


no need to keep an open eye

by darlingwendy



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: ART teacher yamaguchi tadashi, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, M/M, Minor Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Minor Azumane Asahi/Nishinoya Yuu, Minor Hinata Shouyou/Kozume Kenma, Minor Shimizu Kiyoko/Yachi Hitoka, POV Outsider, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, Teacher Yamaguchi Tadashi, more tags to be added as more chapters are added, oh my god they were roommates, the yamayachi friendship is very important to me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:35:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29248134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlingwendy/pseuds/darlingwendy
Summary: He clicked on the link. The ad was simple, succinct, couldn’t be drier if it tried.Seeking one roommate. You’d have your own bedroom and bathroom. I work late but I’m quiet. I ask that you are quiet, too. No pets. Bokuto and Hinata need not apply.--After a sudden breakup, Yamaguchi Tadashi needs a new place to live. Tsukishima Kei needs a roommate. The strangers-to-lovers, slow burn, roommates AU nobody asked for & everyone's getting. Updating weekly!
Relationships: Tsukishima Kei/Yamaguchi Tadashi
Comments: 145
Kudos: 200





	1. been blossoming alone

**Author's Note:**

> i dedicate this to the groupchat & my enabler, leanna, who let me scream about this at all hours of the day. fic title is from "sunflower" by rex orange county, chapter title from "pink in the night" by mitski.

Yamaguchi had held it together all morning. He’d dragged himself out of bed, fumbled with the coffee machine, plucked all the photographs covering the fridge with his eyes closed. He’d drank the coffee black, shuffled into the living room, didn’t even wince as he passed the couch. Silently, he packed up his half of the room, his limbs numb as he emptied drawers and stripped the walls of all the proof he’d ever lived here. He thought that he would make it through the entire day, but three minutes after noon and twelve hours since he’d walked in on Hiroki kissing a much prettier man, he ran out of tape. 

The dispenser gave up halfway over a box of his books, nothing left to give despite Yamaguchi’s quiet pleas. It was such a small thing, a minor inconvenience in the ash of his two-year relationship, but it was now, hovering over a half-closed cardboard box, that tears began to swarm. The plastic dispenser clattered against the cardboard and Yamaguchi crumpled into a ball, pressing his forehead against his knees. His arms wrapped around his shins. He wasn’t a pretty crier, but he was dedicated. He sobbed, alone in the privacy of his own sorrow, body wracked by the violence of it all. Yachi was always telling him to cry when the instinct hit. Hiroki was always telling him he wasn’t a very pretty crier. Hiroki liked pretty things. This, his ugliest cry yet, felt a little like payback. It didn’t matter that Hiroki wasn’t around to witness it. If the gods were kind, Hiroki would never again witness anything Yamaguchi did.

Once he felt dried out, he slowly untangled himself, using the bottom of his t-shirt as a rag for the mess his face had become. He picked up his phone to a series of texts, all, thankfully, from Yachi. He leaned back against his bed and began to scroll through them.

_yachi🌞︎_ [12:07 PM]  
I found some places you might like!!

_yachi🌞︎_ [12:07 PM]  
Opposite side of town so no need to worry about running into h*****

He smiled, but his chest ached. The tenderness of Yachi’s friendship felt sharper than normal. Perhaps it was the feeling of tears drying on his cheeks, or because she was miles and miles away in a different city, or because he loved her and love felt like a tender cut to his Achilles’ heel. He kept reading.

_yachi🌞︎_ [12:07 PM]  
I hope you’re letting yourself cry, tadashi

_yachi🌞︎_ [12:08 PM]  
I love you very much

_yachi🌞︎_ [12:10 PM]  
Kiyoko says she’s watched enough criminal minds to know how to handle this when we come visit

_yachi🌞︎_ [12:11 PM]   
I love you

_yachi🌞︎_ [12:11 PM]  
No need to text back!! 😊

_yachi🌞︎_ [12:15 PM]  
This one’s looking for a roommate ASAP, might be nice?

He clicked on the link. The ad was simple, succinct, couldn’t be drier if it tried.

_Seeking one roommate. You’d have your own bedroom and bathroom. I work late but I’m quiet. I ask that you are quiet, too. No pets. Bokuto and Hinata need not apply._

The ends of his mouth quirked upwards. It was a nice reminder that there was still a whole world out there, that not everything had come crashing down at the sight of Hiroki’s hands in someone else’s hair, that his grief was one smear of blue in a painting bursting with color. Some people were overwhelmed by their insignificance; Yamaguchi was comforted by it. He took it as a sign from the universe. A boring, ordinary, intriguing sign.

He started to draft an email to the poster, someone named Tsukishima Kei. He typed and deleted four or five variations on an introduction, hands clammy as he tried to think of how best to present himself. Shame started hot in the pit of his stomach and began to claw its way up his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut, took in a long breath, let it out slow. _This isn’t a test,_ he thought. _This isn’t a test._

He opened his eyes and tried again.

_Hey! My name is Yamaguchi Tadashi. I’m looking for a place to live. I’m pretty quiet and I don’t have any pets. Are you free this weekend for me to see the place?_

He sunk back against the bed, staring at the remaining relics of his destroyed relationship. The room, now devoid of his personal belongings, still looked like a room. He was surprised at how detached he felt from all of it: the paintings Hiroki hung, the furniture Hiroki brought home, the sheets Hiroki picked out. 

_Did I exist here at all?_

Before he could spiral into another grief-stricken cry, his phone buzzed. He glanced down. One new email.

_You can come by tomorrow at noon._

Again, a smile flickered over his mouth. No personal details, no further instructions, just the sentence and the exact address of the place. Yachi was right - it seemed to be nearly on the other side of town. He looked it up. Two blocks from his school. Another boring, ordinary, intriguing sign.

_Great! I’ll see you tomorrow at noon._

He hesitated, and then, for good measure or good luck or just to make himself smile, he added one more sentence.

_P.S. FYI, people will notice if I go missing._

He hit send, letting his phone fall into his lap and pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. It worked. He smiled. Hiroki hated all of his dumb, dry jokes. But Yamaguchi never had to make Hiroki laugh again.

**

Yamaguchi was a punctual person. He’d arrived early to one too many things, spent too much time pacing in the lobby or idly scrolling through Instagram in the car, and the thought of being late struck the fear of the gods into him. Over the years, he’d honed his skill. Yamaguchi was on time to everything, give or take three minutes. He pulled up in front of the apartment at 11:58, grabbed the two coffees and bag of pastries he’d picked up along the way, and was knocking on the door at exactly 12:00. Suddenly, he was aware of the clothes he’d haphazardly thrown on that morning. He’d felt, in the moment of dressing, that it was an outfit that best represented him: comfortable, adaptable, a competent and favored art teacher. His pants, well-loved, were covered in paint, his t-shirt a soft green cotton number he’d picked up at a rummage sale four years ago and could never get rid of, and a large button-up floral shirt that Hiroki had absolutely despised. He hoped, eventually, he would make decisions without considering Hiroki first, but shrugging on the button-up that morning had given him the sort of _fuck-you_ confidence he thought might be necessary to make decisions on the fly, like agreeing to see a stranger’s house or making that stranger’s house his own. Besides, the shirt had dinosaurs. Yamaguchi liked dinosaurs.

The door swung open, revealing the mysterious and succinct Tsukishima Kei, and all thoughts - of Hiroki, of the dinosaurs, of anything coherent - left Yamaguchi. The man was tall, his face arranged in such a neutral expression that Yamaguchi wondered if he practiced in the mirror. A large pair of black headphones rested around his neck, giving him the air of someone who was always working on something important. Tadashi might have imagined it, the paranoia of post-breakup heightening his senses, but the man almost seemed to stiffen when he opened the door. Well. Nothing he could do about that. He held up the coffees and the bag like a peace offering.

“Hi, I’m Yamaguchi Tadashi, your twelve o’clock?”

“Ah,” tall Tsukishima Kei said, “the one who will be missed.”

A slow smile, born out of relief and amusement, slid over Yamaguchi’s mouth. 

“That’s me,” he said, half a laugh escaping him. The neutrality on Tsukishima Kei’s face wavered for just a moment, and then he stepped aside. 

“I’m Tsukishima Kei. Come in.”

“Thanks for letting me see the apartment so quickly,” Yamaguchi started, stepping over the threshold and taking in the apartment. “Wow. This place is gorgeous.” 

The entrance opened into a large living room, tall ceilings accentuating the long windows on the far wall. There was a plush couch facing a TV, accompanied by an armchair and an ottomon and a loveseat. Yamaguchi could spot various gaming systems nestled among the nest of wires clustered beneath the TV. To his right, the living room spilled into a dining room with a table that looked like it could seat eight around its rich dark wood. Beyond that was the prettiest kitchen Yamaguchi had ever seen. It looked woefully underutilized. He almost groaned. Instead, he spoke.

“I brought coffee, and some pastries, I wasn’t sure if you had any allergies, or anything, but there’s a few different things in here.” He rambled when he was nervous, and he could feel his stomach starting to twist itself into knots. “The coffee is black, but I brought cream and sugar, just in case.”

“Are you trying to bribe me?” 

Yamaguchi looked over his shoulder. Tsukishima was still standing by the entrance, hand still glued to the doorknob. Yamaguchi flushed. 

“It’s only a bribe if it works,” he replied, his mouth moving faster than his mind. That time, he was sure he saw the beginnings of a smile flicker over the blonde’s mouth. His heartbeat rattled in his ears. Yamaguchi turned, moving towards the counter that separated the kitchen from the dining room, setting down the coffee and pastries. “Can I have a tour?”

Tsukishima led him through the apartment. Beyond the kitchen was Tsukishima’s room, the door firmly shut. The hallway on the other side of the living room had three doors. One was a laundry room, small and filled to the brim with the washer and dryer. One was a bathroom - “yours,” Tsukishima said, before quickly adding, “if you end up here,” - and the third was the bedroom. Tsukishima opened the door and Yamaguchi almost gasped. 

The room itself was fine. A bed nestled against one wall, the closet door open to reveal its space, a wooden dresser tucked away in the corner. The windows were filled with light, and as Yamaguchi crossed the room, he realized he could see his school from the apartment. The thought warmed him. It was empty now, of course, all the students enjoying their weekend, but still. A small, significant sign. The knowledge that he could walk to work rather than chasing after two buses made him giddy. The best part of it all was how fresh it felt. This room had never known him as a pair. Here, he was just one, just enough, just him and his school and his fresh start.

He turned around to find Tsukishima lingering in the doorway, his face stoic and unreadable. Even that was comforting to him. He grinned, unable to tamper the relief bubbling through him.

“So, what’s the catch?”

Tsukishima lifted an eyebrow.

“Catch?”

“Yeah,” Yamaguchi said, moving towards the doorway. Tsukishima quickly stepped aside, and Yamaguchi did his best to not internalize that, heading towards the coffee. “This place is awesome. Is it haunted?” 

“No,” Tsukishima replied, slowly following him out. Yamaguchi pulled the lid off of his coffee, pouring in two creams and a sugar packet. 

“Aw, man,” Yamaguchi said, dipping a wooden stirrer into his cup and twirling it around. Maybe it was the shirt, or the relief of being in a place free of Hiroki’s cologne, or the hope of a new beginning. He was smiling. He slid the other coffee towards Tsukishima, who approached slowly, like a wary animal and not the owner of this apartment. “I guess I can live with that.”

Tsukishima took the coffee. He didn’t take a seat at one of the stools on the counter, choosing instead to use all of his height to his advantage. His lips pressed together, like he was fighting a smile, or maybe the urge to sneeze. Yamaguchi hummed, amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. He looked around the apartment again. Splashed in sunlight, a room of his own, a kitchen to die for. It felt right. Yamaguchi drummed his fingers against the counter, turning his attention back towards the blonde.

“When could I move in?”

“When were you thinking of moving in?” 

“As soon as possible,” Yamaguchi replied. His carefully cultivated confidence wavered, just for a moment. His shirt felt too big, too bright, his jokes dumb and humorless. He glanced down at his coffee, at the perfect shade he liked it, and his stomach soured. His mind started racing: he didn’t _want_ to explain to this stranger why he needed a place so soon, didn’t want to even think about speaking Hiroki’s name, tarnishing this place with his own ghosts so quickly. Panic was swirling in his stomach, his fingers tightened around the cup, and then --

“Okay.” Tsukishima’s tone was casual, not unkind, and the relief of not having to answer a thousand piercing questions was almost overwhelming. Yamaguchi exhaled slowly. _Okay._

“Just so you know,” Tsukishima started again, “you aren’t the only one that’ll be missed. So if this is some serial killer ploy…”

Yamaguchi blinked, looking up from his coffee. Tsukishima’s face was as neutral as ever, but Yamaguchi saw the flash of humor in his eyes.

“Sure, sure,” Yamaguchi said. “I bet Hinata and Bokuto will miss you deeply.” 

Tsukishima let out a quiet half-laugh. Yamaguchi felt like cheering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me??? projecting my anxiety onto yamaguchi tadashi???? it's more likely than you think. i hope you enjoyed the start to this story!!! i'm super excited to get to share it with you. let me know what you thought in the comments below!!!


	2. taking up space

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yamaguchi moves in and gets a call from an old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for your kind comments last week!! i'm so happy that yr as excited for this story as i am. as always, big shoutout to dani, pey, and leanna for letting me cry about this in the groupchat. xo. enjoy!! chapter title from "me and my husband" by mitski. (yes!! i'm gay thanks for asking)

Moving in was, thankfully, a smooth process. Hiroki had the decency to stay clear of their apartment, giving Yamaguchi the privacy he needed to pack up his car and ugly cry while he did it. There was something therapeutic about leaving the keys in the mailbox, a sense of finality and closure and maturity. Yamaguchi didn’t look back. Partly because his boxes covered his rear window, but mostly out of pride. 

When Yamaguchi entered Tsukishima’s - his - their? - apartment, carrying as many boxes as he felt capable, Tsukishima lifted one eyebrow.

“Do you need help?”

Yamaguchi hesitated for a moment. He weighed the pros and cons, the quick emotional math he’d grown accustomed to doing, but before he could finish calculating, Tsukishima was already standing up from the couch.

“Uh, sure. Thanks.” Yamaguchi shuffled aside. Tsukishima just nodded, skirting past Yamaguchi to slip down the stairs. The rest of the morning went like that: the two of them meeting in the doorway, arms empty or full, Yamaguchi occasionally saying thank you and Tsukishima waving him off with a hand or a nod. As Yamaguchi was setting the last of his things in his room -- a collapsible easel and pothos delicately sprouting from a handmade clay pot -- Tsukishima’s phone rang. It was a brief conversation, but once it was finished, Tsukishima was knocking on the doorframe.

“I’ve got to go into work. I might be home late, but don’t worry about waiting up for me. You can put your things wherever, just try not to move my stuff around too much.” He dug into his pockets and pulled out two keys, handing them over to Yamaguchi. “These are yours.”

“Thanks,” Yamaguchi breathed, taking the keys like the treasures they were. Tsukishima stared for a moment, his perfectly neutral expression still entirely unreadable. Yamaguchi glanced over his shoulder, curious if one of his boxes had caught Tsukishima’s attention. By the time he looked back, Tsukishima was disappearing from the doorway.

“I’ll see you later. Welcome to the apartment.” 

Yamaguchi scrambled to the doorway, calling out after Tsukishima’s retreating form.

“Bye! Thanks again!” 

Tsukishima tossed a wave over his shoulder. Yamaguchi looked down at the keys in his hand, a slow smile spreading over his face.

_Fresh start._

**

“So, what does he do?” Ennoshita asked, carefully unwrapping his lunch. Yamaguchi froze, sandwich halfway to his open mouth. His brow furrowed.

He’d been living with Tsukishima for a little over a week. The two of them had opposite schedules: Yamaguchi was always up first, tip-toeing around the apartment so as not to disturb the blonde, and each night, he was crawling into bed when the front door swung open, announcing Tsukishima’s entrance into their home. There hadn’t been a lot of time to discuss mundane things, like occupations or food allergies or morning versus night showers. Not to mention Yamaguchi had spent most of his free time wavering between a righteous indignant confidence and crying over boxed wine in his room. They hadn’t really talked.

“I…don’t know,” Yamaguchi confessed, lowering his sandwich onto its napkin. Ennoshita arched an eyebrow. Asahi nearly choked.

“You don’t know what your roommate does?” The taller man sputtered. His face lost all its color, gaze lifting towards the ceiling. “What if he is a murderer?”

Ennoshita elbowed Asahi in the side.

“What if who’s a murderer?” Noya asked, bounding over to the table. He smacked a wet kiss to Asahi’s forehead before sliding into the seat next to him.

“Yamaguchi’s new roommate,” Ennoshita replied. 

“New roommate?” Nishinoya asked, head cocking. He glanced over to Asahi and then back at Yamaguchi. “What happened to Shoda?”

Yamaguchi glanced down at his sandwich, mouth twisting at the sound of Hiroki’s name. He’d already given Asahi and Ennoshita the short version, but he’d managed to do it without crying. The more times he said it, perhaps the duller the ache would become. 

“We broke up,” Yamaguchi said, lifting his eyes to meet his co-worker’s. Noya’s frown was ferocious.

“What did he do? Did he hurt you? I’ll kill him,” Noya started, rising from his seat. Asahi reached over, putting a hand on Nishinoya’s shoulder.

“Please stop talking about murder,” Asahi pleaded.

“You started it,” Ennoshita said under his breath. 

“Who are we killing?” 

Yamaguchi turned as the Tanakas burst into the teacher’s lounge, a bright and boisterous pair. Saeko led the charge, plopping down on one side of Tadashi, tugging affectionately at his topknot. Tanaka dropped into the chair on his other side. Ennoshita pretended not to notice. Yamaguchi resisted the urge to smile at his friend’s flushed face. The librarian had never admitted anything out loud, at least not to Yamaguchi, but he’d been teaching alongside Ennoshita long enough to notice the way he turned towards Ryu like a plant towards the sun. Ennoshita wasn’t that subtle, but Tanaka was sweetly dense.

“Shoda Hiroki,” Noya spat.

“Your boyfriend?” Saeko asked.

“Ex,” Asahi clarified.

In terrifying and endearing unison, brother and sister turned towards Yamaguchi.

“Ex?”

“We broke up,” Tadashi said again. He paused, checked in with himself. Yes, then, too – the ache less sharp. Not gone. Maybe never gone. But slowly, slowly, fading.

“What happened?” Tanaka asked.

“Are you okay?” Saeko added.

“Don’t bombard him, please,” Asahi said. Yamaguchi waved his hand, an attempt at diffusing their concerns. Still, a part of him was warmed. Sometimes it was difficult for him to accept the truth of his friendships. The difficulty was lessened by their genuine care.

“He,” Yamaguchi started. The rest of the sentence got stuck behind the sudden lump in his throat. Okay. So the whole story still held its sting. He blinked, swallowed, started over. “We just weren’t working.”

“Weren’t you living together?” Saeko asked. Yamaguchi nodded.

“I moved out.”

“And in with a murderer,” Ennoshita joked.

“He’s not a murderer!” Yamaguchi exclaimed.

“So, what is he?” Tanaka asked.

“That’s what I wanted to know,” Ennoshita said, arching an eyebrow at Tadashi. Tanaka grinned, nudging Ennoshita’s shoulder with his own.

“Great minds.”

Ennoshita tried not to look pleased with himself. Tanaka looked back at Tadashi.

“I don’t know what he does,” Yamaguchi admitted. “But it’s probably not murder. He seems pretty normal.”

“All murderers do!” Saeko chirped, clapping Yamaguchi on the back. Asahi let out a pleading sigh, causing the whole table to burst into laughter.

**

“So,” Yamaguchi started. It was Sunday, now, the day of the week they apparently both had off. Tsukishima was seated at the kitchen counter, a mug of coffee cradled between his hands. Yamaguchi stood at the stove, a hand hovering over the pan. “What do you do?”

Tsukishima hummed in thought.

“For work?”

Yamaguchi nodded. Satisfied with the heat of the pan, he turned to the various bowls and plates lined up on the counter, grabbing a piece of thick bread.

“I’m an exhibit designer at the art museum.”

Yamaguchi’s eyes widened. He nearly dropped the bread as he spun around to face Tsukishima, who was sitting as calmly as if he’d been commenting on the color of the cabinets instead of revealing he worked at one of the coolest places Yamaguchi’d ever been. One light eyebrow arched. Yamaguchi was too pleased to be embarrassed.

“No way!” He exclaimed, nearly lifting on the balls of his feet with excitement. Tsukishima nodded. The corners of his mouth flickered, ever so slightly, in what Yamaguchi was starting to catalogue as a Tsukishima-grin. 

“It’s not as exciting as it sounds,” Tsukishima started. Yamaguchi shook his head, turning back towards the stove. His hands moved quickly, dipping the bread in the egg wash, laying the bread in the heat of the pan, chattering the whole time.

“I doubt that. An exhibit designer! You make all the important choices, _wow,_ that is so cool. Wait, how long have you been there?” He glanced back over his shoulder, torn between keeping breakfast unburnt and learning everything there was to know about the museum. “Were you in charge of exhibit designs when they brought in all the Frida Khalo work?”

Tsukishima nodded. Yamaguchi’s jaw dropped, and he grinned, a delighted laugh bubbling out of him.

“You’ve got to be kidding me! _You_ designed that? Oh my god, I haven’t stopped thinking about it _since_ I saw it. That was what, two years ago? You did that! Holy shit,” he said, shaking his head and turning his attention back to the toast. Breakfast, thankfully, was easy for Yamaguchi. His body went through the motions as his mind whizzed. “My friends at work are going to flip out. Maybe -- or they’re gonna think I’m making it up. I seriously couldn’t stop talking about it for months, it drove all the kids nuts.” Flipping the french toast onto a nearby plate, Yamaguchi could feel the tips of his ears turn pink.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, shaking his head with a sheepish smile. “I’m rambling.”

“No, it’s fine,” Tsukishima said. His voice, ever casual, held no teasing lilt - though when Yamaguchi glanced over his shoulder towards his roommate, he saw a glimpse of something light in his eyes. “Always nice to meet a fan.”

Yamaguchi snorted, his anxiety soothed.

“What do you do?” Tsukishima asked. Yamaguchi smiled, dipping another piece of bread into the egg wash. 

“I’m an art teacher,” he replied. “I work at the school a few blocks over.”

“Convenient,” the blonde replied. “You like kids?”

“Yeah,” Yamaguchi said, “especially mine.” He flushed, again. “Not - they’re not _mine,_ obviously, I don’t have any kids, but my _students_ are great. Really smart. Hilarious, too. You should see some of the shit they create. A few weeks I had them make medals for themselves out of paper plates and one girl just wrote “not dead yet” in red marker.” He laughed, again, and this time Tsukishima joined in, a quiet breath punctuating Yamaguchi’s own giggles. Getting Tsukishima to laugh felt like it deserved a paper plate medal of its own.

“Well, she’s not wrong,” Tsukishima replied.

“How did you even become an exhibit director?” Yamaguchi asked, jabbing the spatula in Tsukishima’s direction. The rest of the morning passed easily, the two of them discussing their various occupations and the people they spent their time with over breakfast. Tsukishima did the dishes in thanks, and the rest of the day was spent in quiet proximity, Yamaguchi settling in with a book while Tsukishima silently glowered over a video game.

Without really discussing it, Sundays became a day they spent together. They’d catch glimpses of each other during the week, but every Sunday morning was spent at the kitchen counter, trading stories and exchanging questions. It was...nice. Yamaguchi thought of Hiroki less and less, the grief passing over him like a shadow, never lingering. He grew more comfortable in the apartment, finally unpacking the last of his things, tossing the final box in the dumpster out back, hanging a few plants in the living room. It was equal parts nerve-wracking and grounding to put things he owned in spaces that weren’t his bedroom. Hiroki had done all the decorating. But Tsukishima never made a complaint, nor a snide comment, just asked what kind of plants they were and if Yamaguchi had more. He tried not to compare Tsukishima and Hiroki - the circumstances were wildly different, of course, and his relationship with Hiroki had been fraught with so much more, but he found himself holding his breath less. The new apartment was finally starting to feel like his home.

About a month in, Yamaguchi woke on a school day to the smell of coffee already brewing. He stumbled into the kitchen, half-expecting to see Tsukishima groggily bumbling around, but there was no sign of his roommate, just the bubbling coffee pot. He approached, a little mystified, until he realized the timer blinking on the machine. A soft smile tugged over his mouth. He hadn’t set it the night before, and Tsukishima had unfortunately been correct about the lack of ghosts in the apartment. It was such a simple gesture, but it warmed Yamaguchi, the thought of Tsukishima setting up the coffee pot so it’d be ready for him in the morning. He cooked twice as much breakfast, leaving half wrapped neatly in the fridge, with a note of reheating instructions and thanks. This, like Sundays, was never spoken of, but became a routine.

“I think we’re friends,” Yamaguchi said, tilting his face up towards the sun. He was walking home, still a treat after all these weeks, and the sound of Yachi’s delight through the phone was infectious.

“Tadashi!” She gasped. He could practically see her eyes widening, glimmering with joy. “That’s great, I’m so happy to hear it’s working out so well. How do you feel? Are you happy?” He hummed, thinking over the question. 

“Yeah,” he said, nodding even though she couldn’t see him. A smile bloomed over his mouth, slow as sunrise. “I am.”

“And _he_ hasn’t tried to call you?” 

Even after years of friendship, Yamaguchi was still surprised by how quickly Yachi’s bright tone could shift into more serious territory. At first glance, she could appear wide-eyed and anxious, but underneath her awe-filled exterior was a heart of gold, warm and just as strong. Her refusal to even speak Hiroki’s name made him feel light.

“I don’t know. I blocked his number.”

“Good,” Yachi practically growled. “He doesn’t deserve to ever talk to you again.”

“Thanks, Hitoka-chan,” he replied. The sun slipped behind a cloud, and Yamaguchi frowned, shaking his head slightly. As if she could sense his unease, Yachi quickly changed the subject.

“Oh, Yamaguchi-kun! I almost forgot! I’ve got good news.”

“What?” He was at the door of the apartment now, fumbling with his keys to get the right one, silently cursing himself (as always) for waiting until the end of the week to bring home every coffee mug he’d forgotten at work, his bag bumping uncomfortably against his side. He held his phone between his shoulder and his ear, trying to free up a hand.

“Kiyoko and I are going to be visiting soon!” 

“What!?” Yamaguchi blurted, nearly dropping his keys.

“Yeah! Well, visiting, on business, I’ve got a client out there who wants to discuss a new project in person and Kiyoko’s got some days off saved up and we figured it would be a good time to go visit her parents anyway, so we’ll be in town in two weeks! I was going to surprise you but Kiyoko pointed out I should probably give you a heads-up, just in case you had grand plans or something.”

By now, Yamaguchi had managed to get inside the apartment, a noisy affair between the jangling of his keys and the clattering of his coffee mugs and the excited laughter pealing out of him. He swung the door shut, dropped his bag, and clutched his phone to his face. Yachi continued.

“We’re staying at Kiyoko’s parents house, but I wanted to see if you wanted to get dinner one night, or something?”

“Yes, of course! God, I can’t wait to see you.” A thought occurred to him. “You could come here if you wanted. I’ll cook dinner, you can see the new place.”

“Yes! I’d love to! Great, okay, I’ll tell Kiyoko about it tonight.” He could hear murmuring in the background, and then Yachi’s muffled voice in response. He smiled, softly. He loved her. “Oh, Tadashi, I gotta go, but I’ll text you later, okay? I can’t wait to see you! I love you!”

“I can’t wait to see you! Go, go, I’ll talk to you soon. Love you.” He hung up, a bright grin spreading over his face. He grabbed his bag and headed for the kitchen, mentally rifling through his favorite recipes. He was trying to remember if Kiyoko couldn’t eat pine nuts or if she didn’t like the taste when Tsukishima’s bedroom door swung open. The creak startled Yamaguchi; he jumped, whirling around.

“Sorry,” he blurted. “I didn’t realize you were home.”

Tuskishima waved a hand, shuffling out of his room and leaning against the fridge. Yamaguchi blinked. 

“Were you napping?”

Yamaguchi had never seen Tsukishima in anything less formal than jeans. Once, _maybe_ , he’d worn a t-shirt to their Sunday breakfasts, but usually his roommate was sporting some kind of button up or nice sweater, a stark contrast to Yamaguchi’s paint-splattered or clay-covered clothes. But now, he was wearing dark sweatpants that had clearly seen him through good days and bad, his blonde hair screaming bedhead, and a t-shirt covered in small prints of various dinosaurs. It had never really occurred to him before, but Tsukishima Kei was handsome.

_Nope,_ he thought, _no. Delete that. Don’t think about it._

Tsukishima smiled. A real smile, dusted with sleep, eyes crinkling.

_Delete that, too._

“Yes, but I’ve been awake for awhile. I just needed motivation to get up.” 

Yamaguchi nodded. He swallowed. He shifted, and realizing he was staring, and still holding a bag full of mugs, turned towards the sink. 

“Good! I mean. Good. I’m glad I didn’t wake you.” He started pulling mugs out of the bag, racking his brain for anything else to say, when he heard Tsukishima’s huffed laughter from behind him. 

“Did you steal all those mugs from the teacher’s lounge?” 

Yamaguchi laughed, maybe a little too breathless, and shook his head.

“Just our cabinet.”

“You might have a problem.”

“I keep thinking I should quit caffeine,” Yamaguchi said, “but _someone_ keeps enabling me.” He cast a glance over his shoulder. It might have been a trick of the afternoon light, sun streaming through their large windows, but he could have sworn the tips of Tsukishima’s ears glowed a soft and delicate pink. He turned his gaze back to the sink. 

_Pull it together, Tadashi._

“I have some friends coming in town,” he blurted, clinging to anything that would change the subject. “I was thinking of having them over for dinner. Unless - sorry, unless that would be weird, it might totally be weird, I’m sorry, I can - we can go _out_ for dinner, if you’d prefer?”

“No,” Tsukishima said. Not for the first time, Yamaguchi envied his cool tone. “You should have them over. You’re a good cook.”

“Thanks,” Yamaguchi said. Compliments normally made him more nervous, but the unaffected honesty in Tsukishima’s tone helped pull him back into his body. He exhaled. “You’re invited, too, of course. If you want. No pressure.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” Tsukishima started. Yamaguchi shook his head, rinsing out the last of the mugs.

“It’s your house, too.” He turned, leaning against the sink to face Tsukishima. “You’ll just end up eating the leftovers anyway,” he said, grinning as he turned the sink off. “Might as well eat it when its fresh.” 

Tsukishima laughed. Yamaguchi ignored the twist of his stomach.

“If you’re sure I won’t be in the way.” 

“I’m sure,” Yamaguchi said, flashing a bright smile. “It’ll be fun!” His phone buzzed in his pocket. Without thinking about it, he fished it out of his pocket, expecting Yachi’s promised text. 

_Unknown Number_

Tadashi, it’s me. Please. I just want to talk.

The floor dropped out from under him. 

“You okay?” 

Tsukishima’s voice seemed to come from the other side of a canyon. Yamaguchi glanced up from his phone, gaze blurry, trying frantically to remember where he was. Kitchen. Apartment. Somewhere Hiroki didn’t know him. His eyes flickered around the room, finally settling on the most solid thing in the room: his roommate. Tsukishima pushed off the fridge. Concern furrowed his brow, his arms unfolding. Yamaguchi plastered a smile on his face. It didn’t reach his eyes. He shoved his phone back in his pocket, nodding his head.

“Yeah! Yeah. Everything’s fine.” 

Tsukishima leveled him with a cool gaze. The moment felt suspended. Yamaguchi felt his palms grow sweaty. He wanted to squirm, or cry, or break one of the newly cleaned mugs. 

“Okay.” Tsukishima’s voice was cool as ever, but underneath it all was the kindness that set the coffee timer and washed the dishes every Sunday. He wouldn’t push. Yamaguchi exhaled. “Do you want to know how Hinata nearly destroyed an authentic Takashi Murakami?”

Yamaguchi nodded. His smile grew a little more genuine; his heartbeat started to slow. Tsukishima launched into the story, and Yamaguchi did his best to pay attention, ignoring the burning text in his pocket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)))))))))))) major thank you to leanna, who deserves all the credit for tsukishima's job. i love ur brilliant brain. and i hope you enjoyed all of yamaguchi's teacher friends!! in my brain, tanaka and noya are science teachers, asahi is a history teacher, ennoshita's the librarian, and saeko is the band teacher. it's impossible for me to write a story w/o including as many of my favorite ships as possible. maybe in the future i'll write the ennotana spin-off. also i had initially planned for this to be ten chapters, but at this rate, the chapters are either going to be 10k words or it's going to be more than 10 chapters. we'll see! what did you think?? i want to know all ur thoughts!! thank you for reading!! exclamation points!!


	3. with me & my weather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a dinner party! What could go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, thank you to the groupchat: leanna, dani, and pey. chapter title is from "rose-colored boy" by paramore. enjoy!!

Yamaguchi stared at the assortment of items scattered across the kitchen counter. Vegetables, freshly washed and waiting to be chopped, small containers of spices crowded behind the cutting board. The lamb was slowly roasting in the oven. The pasta was ready to be cut, the bruschetta mix was chilling in the fridge. What was he forgetting? He knew he was forgetting something. He’d been forgetting a lot of things, lately, barely remembering to grab his coffee mug or keys on the way out, spacing out in the middle of his sentences in class, getting caught unawares in the teacher’s lounge. Ennoshita had found him, more than once, staring off into the middle distance in the doorway of his classroom. Each time, Yamaguchi had waved off his friend’s concern, chalking it up to difficulty sleeping.

It wasn’t a total lie. He was having difficulty sleeping. Hiroki’s text sat on his phone, read but unanswered. Since the initial text, Hiroki had reached out twice more, variations on the same theme. _I’m sorry, I just want to talk, Tadashi, please._

He still hadn’t told anyone. Not Ennoshita, not Yachi, no one in the world knew except for Tadashi and Hiroki. He’d hoped that by keeping it that way, it would go away, and then one day had passed, and then two, and then a week, and by now he’d twisted himself in knots over keeping it from his friends that he felt entirely entangled, once again, just when he thought he was free of it all. 

He drew his lower lip in between his teeth, staring at the ingredients on the counter, willing himself to pull out of the memories and into the present moment. What was missing?

“Oh, fuck,” he groaned, slapping his hand to his forehead.

“Everything okay?” 

Yamaguchi glanced over his shoulder, hand fluttering in the air. Tsukishima had emerged from his bedroom, fiddling with the buttons on the cuff of his shirt. Yamaguchi nodded, and then shook his head, and then nodded again. He could feel the twist of his stomach. No one was going to be upset with him, it was such a minor detail, but on days like today, the smallest things seemed to trip him up the most.

“Yeah, I just forgot to pick up wine while I was at the store, and we don’t _need_ it but I wanted to surprise Kiyoko with this local wine she really likes, and I totally spaced,” Yamaguchi started. His mouth ran nearly as fast as his heartbeat. He could feel himself starting to spiral. _Don’t cry._ “It’s fine, we can just - I guess we can just drink _water,_ or something, it’s not a huge deal, I’d just -- this recipe pairs so well with it, and I - the lamb is supposed to be done in fifteen minutes and they’re gonna be here in thirty, and I--”

“I can go get it.” 

Yamaguchi’s eyes widened.

“You don’t have to, Tsukki, seriously, it’s not a big deal,” Yamaguchi started. Tsukishima shook his head, waving a hand in Yamaguchi’s direction.

“It’s fine. Seriously. Text me the name of the wine. I’ll be right back.” The blonde was already moving towards the door, swiping his wallet and keys off of the kitchen counter as he crossed the room. Yamaguchi turned, following him with his gaze.

“O-okay! Thank you! I’ll pay you back!” Yamaguchi called. Tsukishima tossed another wave over his shoulder as he left. Yamaguchi stared at the closed door. It took him approximately one minute to realize he’d called the blonde _Tsukki._ It took him one minute and seven seconds to realize that Tsukishima hadn’t corrected him, and one minute and twelve seconds to connect that to the slight pink that had colored Tsukishima’s cheeks as he left the apartment.His face flushed. 

“Not now,” he muttered to himself, turning back to the stove. He ran one hand over his face, taking a moment to steady himself, and then he threw himself into cooking, distinctly not thinking about the certainty with which Tsukishima moved.

Cooking had always grounded him. Cooking, like art, had rules, and within those rules was the room to play. It was easy to turn off the part of his brain that always ran on hyperdrive and let his instincts take over, particularly when the meal he was preparing was for people he cared about. Cooking, like art, was a way for Tadashi to create something tangible to give in lieu of words. As he moved about the kitchen, cutting the pasta, heating the water, slicing vegetables, he felt his heartbeat settle. His mind filled with flavor combinations, his hands grew steady, and by the time he was pulling the lamb out of the oven, he felt peaceful. Everything was, once again, okay. 

The knock on the door brought him out of his reverie. He glanced up at the clock, a bright grin splitting over his face. He practically sprinted across the apartment, throwing the door open. Kiyoko and Yachi stood on the other side, moon and sun, real and actually in front of him. He felt like crying again, but this time out of joy. Yachi grinned, wasting no time in flinging herself forward, arms wrapping around him.

“Tadashi!” She shouted. He laughed, effortlessly happy, pulling her in for a hug so tight her feet lifted off the ground.

“It’s so good to see you,” he mumbled into her shoulder, gently setting her down. He wasted no time pulling Kiyoko in for a hug. He let her keep her feet on the ground, and she hugged him close.

“Thank you for having us,” she said, pulling back to give him a warm smile.

“Thanks for coming,” Yamaguchi replied, stepping out of the doorway and gesturing for them to step inside. He shut the door behind them, hung their jackets, guided them to the kitchen.

“Everything’s nearly finished,” he started, pulling the bruschetta mix out of the fridge and arranging it over the small slices of bread. “But here’s something to tide you over.” He placed the plate in front of them, unable to stop the smile from spreading over his face. _My friends._ It wasn’t often that he and Yachi got to see each other - they hadn’t lived in the same city since college, and though their phone calls were frequent, it wasn’t the same as seeing her in person.

“Where’s your roommate?” Yachi asked, glancing around the space. 

“Oh, I forgot something, so he offered to pick it up for me,” Yamaguchi said, an sheepish blush coloring his cheeks. “He should be back soon.” 

“That was kind of him,” Kiyoko said, settling into one of the stools at the counter. Her gaze, calm and cool, seemed to sweep through his soul. Typically, he appreciated her uncanny ability to know what he was thinking, but tonight, he was afraid of what she would uncover. Yamaguchi smiled, lifting his shoulder in a half-shrug, turning away before either of them could catch the glow in his cheeks.

“He’s thoughtful,” Yamaguchi said, turning to the stove. “How was the trip?”

Yachi launched into a detailed description of the train ride, occasionally punctuated by observations from Kiyoko, their voices blending together like birdsong. Yamaguchi moved around the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on the pasta, losing himself in the laughter and delight that came from sharing food with friends. He’d just finished plating the pasta when the front door swung open again, causing all three of them to turn in unison. 

“Oh, hello,” Tsukishima said, lifting his free arm in a wave. 

“Tsuki - shima,” Yamaguchi said, hoping no one noticed the infinitesimal pause. Kiyoko’s eyebrow raised. So much for that. “This is my roommate, Tsukishima Kei,” he continued, gesturing towards the blonde. “And these are my friends, Shimizu Kiyoko and Yachi Hitoka.” 

“It’s nice to meet you,” Tsukishima replied, polite and crisp as ever. His head bowed, slightly, as he toed off his shoes and crossed the room. “I hope you weren’t waiting for me.”

“No, no, you’re just in time,” Yamaguchi said, meeting him halfway and taking the bag from his hands. “Thanks, again,” he added, glancing up at Tsukishima. 

“It was nothing,” Tsukishima said. The corners of his mouth lifted ever so slightly. Yamaguchi’s heartbeat sounded like the ocean. The blonde turned towards the women. “I hope your trip was pleasant.” 

Yachi nodded, happy to relay the details of the trip once more, and Yamaguchi moved back to the counter to unpack the wine and give himself a moment to settle. Sometimes, Tsukishima would _look_ at him. It made Tadashi feel like he was being observed, as if curiosity was a thing with gentle hands, like it was just the two of them in the room. Usually, they were, and Tadashi had a book to hide behind or a plant to water, some tangible distraction he could use to convince himself he was making it all up in his head. He could practically feel Kiyoko’s eyes burning a hole in the back of his neck. It was nice to know he wasn’t imagining things, but he wasn’t quite ready to unpack all of it, and certainly not over dinner. 

“Now we can eat,” Yamaguchi said, pulling one of the bottles out of the bag and revealing it to Kiyoko with a flourish. Her eyes gleamed, Yachi gasped, and Tsukishima looked pleased with himself. Yamaguchi smiled. 

_This is good._

Conversation flowed easily. They sat around the table, passing pasta and pouring wine, exchanging stories of Yamaguchi and Yachi’s time in college, Tsukishima’s escapades at the museum, Kiyoko’s brother’s recent engagement. Tsukishima was in the middle of a story about one of his co-workers, Akaashi, when Yamaguchi’s phone buzzed, insistent in his pocket. 

Yamaguchi’s body knew what was happening before his brain. His stomach sank, pulling him out of the warmth of his company and into the frigid waters of unease. He gripped his fork tighter, trying to stay focused on the sound of Tsukishima’s low tones. _It’ll pass, it’ll pass, it’ll pass._ Finally, after a minute-long eternity, his phone stilled. He relaxed, reached for his water glass. His phone started to buzz again. Startled, he jerked slightly. The three of them turned to look at him.

“Sorry,” he said, slapping on a smile. “Weird shiver.” He wondered if they could hear the vibration of his phone, if they were wondering why he didn’t pick it up, if they thought him rude for keeping his phone on him at all. He waved his hand, encouraging Tsukishima to continue, and his phone fell silent again. This time, it took hardly any time at all for the phone to ring again. He knew, without looking, who it was. He could already hear the slur in his voice, the hitch in his breath, the quiet pleading voice laced with whisky and want. 

“Sorry,” he said, abruptly pushing his chair back. “I - think it might be an emergency, I’m sorry, I’ll - be right back.” His voice was low, tight, his chest constricting. He rose from the table, unable to look at any of them. He felt so small, suddenly, swarmed with shame. _Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry._ He moved as quick as he could without running towards his room. He could hear their muffled voices behind him. Whatever they were saying was drowned out by the vibration of his phone. He could feel it rattling his teeth. Pushing open the door to his room, he pulled out his phone.

_Unknown Number calling._

He swiped.

“Leave me alone,” he hissed, pressing the phone to his ear. 

“Tadashi.” Hiroki sounded mournful. He was always so good at sounding mournful.

“Stop calling.”

“I just wanted to hear your voice.”

Suddenly, a hand on his elbow. He turned. Yachi was blurry. No, it was tears. He was crying. She was solid. One hand still on his elbow, one hand reaching towards the phone. He shook his head even as he handed it to her. In one swift motion, she’d nudged the door shut, guided Yamaguchi towards the bed, lifted the phone to her ear.

“Shoda Hiroki, if you ever attempt to talk to Tadashi again, I will make sure it’s the last thing you do.” Her voice was as sharp as a sword, low and pointed. Yamaguchi felt sick and grateful, small and miraculously loved, apologetic and relieved. His fingers twisted in the blankets.

“It would bring me great joy to ruin you,” Yachi continued, furiously pacing in front of the door, “and the only thing stopping me from doing it right now is the undeserved kindness of Yamaguchi. Delete this number. Go grovel somewhere else, you pathetic spineless excuse of a man.” Without waiting for a response, she hung up, tossing the phone onto the bed next to Yamaguchi. He could hardly look at her, choosing instead to bury his face in his hands. He felt the bed dip, and then felt her arms wrap around him. Unwilling to deny himself the small comfort, he turned, burying his face in her shoulder, and sobbed.

At the table, Tsukishima was tense. His hands curled and uncurled, gaze unmoving from the hallway. After the third or fourth time he made a move to stand, and then didn’t, Shimizu reached across the table, her fingertips resting against his knuckles.

“You might overwhelm him.” Her voice was clear, kind. “He’ll be okay.” 

Tsukishima tore his eyes from the hallway to look at her. She studied him. He exhaled, shoulders relaxing ever-so-slightly, and she withdrew her hand.

“It’s very kind of you to be concerned for him.”

“He’s a good person.” He felt embarrassed, almost. It wasn’t in his nature to praise others. He considered himself logical, analytical. For the most part, people irritated him. It was why he’d been so loathe to consider getting a roommate, but the door had swung open, revealing Yamaguchi Tadashi in a ridiculous shirt splashed with dinosaurs, and Tsukishima had cancelled all other showings. He’d felt like the other man would have been easy to live with. He’d been right, until he’d been wrong. Yamaguchi was easy to live with. He was easy to be around. He was easy to make laugh, and easy to laugh with, and impossible to laugh at. Then Tsukishima was setting the coffee pot up the night before, doing the dishes, looking forward to Sundays. It had started to form something soft and small in his chest, something he was unwilling to look in the eye. “He’s kind.”

“He is,” Shimizu agreed, glancing in the direction of the bedroom. They could hear the muffled sound of Yachi’s voice, stern and terrifying. “Sometimes he’s too kind for his own good.”

There was a story behind her words. A person lurked in their shadow, the same person, Tsukishima assumed, on the other end of the phone. He clenched his jaw. A few things settled into place: Yamaguchi was kind, and bright, and hurt. Whatever small and tender thing had taken root in Tsukishima’s chest would simply have to stay there, buried in the dirt, never to sprout. He was not a gentle person, he was not kind. He didn’t know how to comfort. He was logical. His wanting didn’t make up for his lack of knowledge.

He could feel Shimizu’s gaze on him. He glanced up, saw the sentence forming behind her eyes, and then the sound of the door opening caught their attention. Yamaguchi shuffled out, Yachi right beside him, their arms intertwined. Yamaguchi lifted a hand to the back of his neck, sheepish. Tsukishima felt the roots grow deeper. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“You have nothing to be sorry for!” Yachi exclaimed. Her eyes, which had been so bright during dinner, were lined with steel. She caught Kiyoko’s gaze, mouthed the word _Hiroki._ The brunette nodded, just once, an understanding.

“I didn’t mean to cause a scene,” Yamaguchi started. The three of them shook their heads. His stomach twisted, half humiliation, half relief. Yachi squeezed his arm; he remembered to breathe.

“It’s alright, Tadashi-kun,” Kiyoko said, her face softening with a smile. Yamaguchi nodded. He glanced over at Tsukishima. The blonde gave a small nod. Yamaguchi pressed his mouth together, a flat line attempting to curve, and something shifted in the blonde’s gaze. Yamaguchi knew he’d need to explain himself, but the look in Tsukishima’s eyes said _not now._ Not for the first time, he was grateful for his roommate’s patience. 

“I bought ice cream,” Yamaguchi said, his voice a fragile quiet. “Dessert?”

Kiyoko and Tsukishima cleared the table as Yachi guided Yamaguchi to the couch, ignoring his soft protests to help. They all settled in the living room, bowls of ice cream in hand. Yachi burrowed into Yamaguchi’s side, and no one made a comment on his quiet presence. He listened as they continued to swap stories, finished the bottle of wine, ate their ice cream. Eventually, he returned to his body, the phone call an unpleasant but small buzz in the back of his mind. The night grew long, and he relaxed, once again able to laugh at jokes, occasionally making a few of his own. Each time, Tsukishima would look at him, eyes sweeping over his face. Each time, Yamaguchi would meet his gaze with a timid smile, and as if that was all he needed, the blonde would tune back into the conversation. 

Eventually, Yachi’s yawns grew impossible to ignore. Tsukishima cleared their bowls and wine glasses, and Kiyoko guided Yachi off the couch. Yamaguchi rose too, the three of them slowly shuffling towards the door, reluctant to part. Yachi reached up, cupping his face in her hands.

“I love you,” she said, eyebrows furrowing with frightening determination. “You deserve good things.” 

Yamaguchi blinked, tears pooling in his eyes.

“I love you, too,” he managed. Yachi smiled, warm and bright, and pulled him in for a tight hug. 

“I meant what I said,” she murmured into his shoulder. “You did the right thing.” His fingers tightened in the cotton of her shirt, and he nodded, holding her tight. She was right. He knew she was right. She released him, and Kiyoko stepped forward, pulling him close.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she said quietly. “It’s good for you.” He smiled, nodding as she pulled away.

“Text me when you make it back to your parents’ house, okay?” He said, glancing between the two of them. Yachi yawned, nodding as she burrowed into Kiyoko’s side. The brunette pressed a kiss to her temple.

“We will,” Kiyoko said.

“Thank you for coming,” Tsukishima said, approaching from the kitchen.

“Thank you for having us,” Kiyoko replied.

“It was really nice to meet you, Tsukishima,” Yachi chirped, turning her sunbeam smile onto him. Tsukishima smiled, softened by the wine or the dinner or something Yamaguchi couldn’t catalogue. 

“It was nice to meet you, too. I hope we can see each other again.”

“We will,” Kiyoko said, a light smile brightening her face. 

They continued to exchange goodbyes and gratitude as the couple moved out the door. Once he had closed it behind them, Yamaguchi could feel Tsukishima’s eyes on the back of his neck. Curiosity, its gentle touch. He exhaled. Slowly, he turned, aware, suddenly, of how alone they were together.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” Tsukishima started, “but...are you alright?”

Yamaguchi drew his lower lip in between his teeth. He couldn’t keep his eyes on Tsukishima’s face, so he let them hover just above his shoulder.

“I...am. I had a...pretty bad break-up.” Yamaguchi curled his hands into fists, mostly to dig his nails into the flesh of his palm, just enough to keep him present. “It’s part of why I was able to move in so quickly. And we haven’t spoken since, and he - got a new phone, or something, and. I doubt he’ll try again, but. It just...caught me off-guard.” He lowered his gaze, stomach curling at the memory of Hiroki’s voice.

“He sounds like a real asshole.” 

Yamaguchi laughed, a bark colored by sadness. 

“He is.” He looked up in time to catch Tsukishima’s eyes. Now his stomach was turning for entirely different reasons. The air felt like a brewing storm. Yamaguchi wanted to say something. He wanted to stay quiet. He wanted to sit in this moment forever and he felt like his skin was going to spark.

“I’ll clean up.” Tsukishima’s expression shifted. Yamaguchi felt as if a door had slid shut. He blinked.

“You don’t have to,” he started. His protest was cut off by a traitorous yawn. Tsukishima’s mouth quirked.

“It’s fine, Yamaguchi. Thank you for dinner. Get some sleep.”

Yamaguchi eyed Tsukishima. The blonde’s face gave nothing away. He nodded, swallowing another yawn. 

“If you’re sure,” Yamaguchi said, admittedly grateful for the offer. Tsukishima nodded, and Yamaguchi smiled, rubbing his eyes blearily as he turned towards his room.

“Goodnight, Tsukki,” he called over his shoulder. If his heartbeat stuttered, he ignored it, disappearing into the bathroom.

Tsukishima stood in the entryway for one minute and twenty-two seconds, painfully aware of the small sprout that had bloomed in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)))))))))))) kiyoyachi nation rise skfjskdlfj i love them. i hope you did too!! and a brief peek into tsukishima's pov -- there may be more of it in the future. let me know what you thought in the comments below. come yell w/me on twt @darlingwndy or tumblr @darlingwendy. OH also i did write a LIL ennotana 4 u all (and for myself let's be honest) so u can find that on my profile under "we can turn the world to gold." uhhh anyway i hope you liked it!!!! thanks for reading!!!!


	4. a citrus friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yamaguchi teaches a lesson on patience. Bets are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, thank you to leanna, dani, and pey, for letting me scream about this at all hours of the day. this chapter is a little short, but the next few are gonna be real big ones, so i hope you'll stick with me! chapter title is from "lemon boy" by cavetown.

“It takes patience,” Yamaguchi started. “You might want to rush to the end. Maybe the unknown frightens you, or you’re worried about making a mistake. You might get nervous that you can’t see the whole picture when you start off, and that’s okay. Everyone is nervous at the beginning of things. When you move slowly, you give yourself the chance to take what you hope to see and make it tangible. It’s an investment of your time. And when you invest that time, I think you’ll be really pleased with the way it turns out.”

He looked over the faces of his students, a smile growing over his face.

“Any questions?”

A few hands raised. He pointed towards the one closest to him.

“Yuka-san?”

“What if I don’t know what I want my dots to turn into?” 

“That’s okay,” he said. “Sometimes we don’t know what our art will turn into. We can let it surprise us. Start with some colors you like, and see what unfolds from there.” 

Her brow knitted, concentration overcoming her, and he had to stifle a laugh. He was about to call on another student when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced up at the clock. Still early, mid-morning. His mouth grew dry.

“Okay,” he said, eyes sweeping back over the classroom. “I know you’ve got a lot of questions, but sometimes, asking questions…”

“Distracts us from discovering answers,” the class replied in a sing-song unison. He grinned. It might not have reached his eyes. 

“Right. You all get started, and I’ll come around and check on you in a few minutes.” He reached behind him, turning on the old stereo he kept on hand for times like this. The sound of classical music filled the air. Once most of the students had grabbed markers and pencils - it would be a cold day in hell when Natsu immediately got to work - Yamaguchi crossed the room to his desk. He reached into his pocket, hand curled around his phone, and froze.

_It’s not him._

After he’d finished sobbing into Yachi’s shoulder, she had calmly blocked Hiroki’s new number. She’d talked him down long enough for him to regain the feeling of his fingers, and had repeated with a special conviction that he had done the right thing. 

_It’s not going to be him._

He believed her - Yachi was many things, and a liar was not one of them - and he had taken comfort in her certainty, her rightness. Most of him even believed it to be true, a surer sign than any that time was healing his wounds even as they felt freshly re-opened. Still. It was hard to unravel two years of habits after a few months of separation. He inhaled, glancing over his shoulder, drawing bravery from the handful of tiny artists behind him. 

_It’s not him._

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, clicked the side button, let the screen light his face. 

_Tsukishima Kei_ [10:24 AM]  
Can I drop these off to you? 

There was an image attached. Yamaguchi’s mouth pulled into a frown; he unlocked his phone quickly. There, cradled in Tsukishima’s hand, were Yamaguchi’s house keys. He glanced at his desk, patted his pockets with his free hand, confirming what the photo already told him: he’d left his keys at home. 

_Yamaguchi Tadashi_ [10:26 AM]  
Yes, please.  
_Yamaguchi Tadashi_ [10:26 AM]  
You are a lifesaver. Just tell the secretary you’re here to see me, he’ll show you where to go.  
_Yamaguchi Tadashi_ [10:26 AM]  
Thank you sorry thank you thank you  


_Tsukishima Kei_ [10:26 AM]  
Not a problem. Be there soon.

Yamaguchi slid his phone back into his pocket. He stared out at his students, their small faces focused on their art, a few sticking their tongues out in concentration, and smiled. It took him a moment to realize he felt peaceful. He’d left his keys at home and Tsukishima was going to have to run them by the school before he went to work. A mistake like that - simple, monumental - would have normally buckled him. But Tsukishima had said it wasn’t a problem, and Yamaguchi believed him. He had learned, in their time together, that Tsukishima wasn’t the kind of person to lie to soothe someone’s feelings. It was evident in the stories he told, the conversations he had over the phone, the direct way in which he did all things. His honesty was grounding. Not even Yamaguchi’s anxiety could find a way to twist it, despite its many attempts. And they were friends, now. Tsukishima’s certainty had a grounding quality that put Yamaguchi at ease.

Still...

Ever since dinner, Tsukishima had been _quiet_. He was, by nature, quiet, but this felt different. As if he was hiding something behind whatever door had slid shut the night Yamaguchi had told him about Hiroki. But Tsukishima didn’t lie to soothe feelings. Whatever was happening inside the blonde’s head, Yamaguchi told himself, didn’t mean he’d done something wrong. He still woke up to the smell of coffee. If there was something going on, it probably had nothing to do with him. 

He was kneeling by Ryo’s side, calmly talking the young boy down from a frustrated near-tantrum when the class burst into murmurs. 

“There’s a _man_ here,” Ryo whispered, eyes wide. Yamaguchi glanced over to find Tsukishima lurking in the doorway. He wasn’t sure who was more nervous: the students or his roommate. Stifling a laugh, he rose.

“Everyone, this is my friend, Tsukishima-san,” he said, lifting his voice so it carried over the class. “You can say hello, he won’t bite.” He glanced over his shoulder at Tsukishima, arching an eyebrow. “Right?”

“Not kids,” Tsukishima replied, the tension not leaving his shoulders. Yamaguchi pressed his mouth together, smothering the fond smile that threatened to flicker over his mouth. 

“Hello, Tsukishima-san!” The class chimed. They were eager for the distraction, and Yamaguchi laughed quietly. Eyes flickering over to the clock on the wall, he realized they only had about ten minutes left.

“Take a water break,” he called over his shoulder as he moved towards Tsukishima. The sounds of squeaking chairs and chattering students filled the room as he closed the distance. 

“They’re not gonna bite you, either,” Yamaguchi said, the corners of his mouth flickering upwards. Tsukishima arched an eyebrow.

“I know,” he said, sounding entirely uncertain.

“If I’d known you were afraid of kids, I would have told you to leave the keys at the front desk,” Yamaguchi said. It was wrong, probably, to be taking such delight in watching the usually-cool-and-collected Tsukishima Kei squirm in the doorway of his art class. Yamaguchi didn’t mind being wrong now and then. Tsukishima rolled his eyes.

“I’m not afraid of them,” he muttered. “They’re two feet tall.”

Yamaguchi did laugh, then, covering his mouth with his hand. Tsukishima huffed, but Yamaguchi didn’t miss the way his mouth twitched, ever so slightly. It was all the permission he needed, glancing over his shoulder at the kids, most of whom were unabashedly staring at their teacher. An idea formed in his mind. He looked back at Tsukishima, arranging his face in his best innocent expression, a ruse he was sure the blonde could see right through.

“Do you have a few minutes? Unless the fear is overwhelming...” 

Tsukishima’s eyes blazed. Yamaguchi bit his lower lip to keep from laughing again. 

“I’m _not_ afraid of kids,” he hissed, fishing in his pockets for Yamaguchi’s keys. The teacher grinned.

“Great,” he said, turning back to face the class, ignoring Tsukishima’s hissed _Yamaguchi._

“Tsukishima-san works at the art museum downtown, and he’s agreed to take a few minutes out of his very busy day to answer some of your questions.” Yamaguchi grinned at the class. A few of them gasped, all of their eyes going wide. There were few things in the world his students like better than questions. They scrambled back into their seats, hands shooting in the air. Yamaguchi glanced back over his shoulder at his roommate. He’d half-expected to see the doorway empty, his keys dropped on the ground, Tsukishima retreating from the classroom and Yamaguchi’s teasing.

Instead, that _look_ was back on Tsukishima’s face, that closed-door look, his gaze filled with something Yamaguchi couldn’t understand but _felt._ The blonde blinked, and it was gone. 

“You’re a bully,” he muttered, stepping forward to stand next to Yamaguchi. Yamaguchi couldn’t get his mind to move fast enough. He looked back at the class, their tiny hands waving in the air, and pointed generically at the first student in lieu of responding to Tsukishima.

“What is your favorite shape?” Natsu asked with the seriousness of a reporter at a press conference. 

“Triangle,” Tsukishima replied without missing a beat. The next few questions were rapid-fire, more takes on Tsukishima’s favorites, and eventually, Tsukishima’s shoulders relaxed half a centimeter.

“Okay, last question. Yuka-san.”

“Can we come to the museum?” 

Yamaguchi’s eyebrows rose. He started to shake his head, prepared to let her down easy, when Tsukishima spoke first.

“Sure. If Yamaguchi-sensei says it’s okay.” 

Yamaguchi’s eyes widened, and he glanced up at Tsukishima. The blonde gave a half-shrug, face arranged in that practiced neutrality, but Yamaguchi was sure he wasn’t imagining the pink glow on the tips of his ears. 

“Seriously?” Yamaguchi whispered. “I didn’t even know they did field trips for kids, are you sure that’s okay?”

“I know someone who works there,” Tsukishima replied, dry as ever. “I’m sure we can figure something out.”

“Can we, Yamaguchi-sensei?” Yuka exclaimed, several other students chiming in with their own _pleases_ and _can wes_ and _I want to go to the museum!_ Yamaguchi glanced between the students and his roommate, their excitement reflecting in his face.

“We’ll have to work out some details, but yeah, I think we can arrange for a trip to the museum.” The class erupted into cheers, nearly drowning out the sound of the bell. Immediately, the cacophony grew, all of them chattering excitedly among the sound of squeaking chairs and zipping backpacks. 

“Everyone say thank you to Tsukishima-san, please!” Yamaguchi called over the noise.

“Thank you, Tsukishima-san!” They called out in unison, rushing past the two of them like a river or a stampede. Once they were gone, Yamaguchi turned back to Tsukishima.

“Thank you, Tsukishima-san,” he repeated, smile bright. “You just earned me so many cool teacher points.”

“If you needed my help, there might be no hope for you,” Tsukishima said. Yamaguchi snorted, shaking his head.

“It was very brave of you to offer to spend more time with them,” Yamaguchi replied.

“Shut up, Yamaguchi,” Tsukishima muttered. Yamaguchi smiled, holding up a hand. Tsukishima shook his head, digging in his pockets and pulling out Yamaguchi’s keys. He dropped them unceremoniously into his waiting palm. 

“Lifesaver,” Yamaguchi breathed, shoving them into his pocket. “Thanks, again, seriously.”

“It’s fine,” Tsukishima said. “I’m gonna be at work later than usual tonight. I’m glad I noticed them before I left.”

“Me and you both,” Yamaguchi said. A silence fell between them, unusual but not entirely uncomfortable. Tsukishima shifted, gaze dropping as he opened his mouth to speak. A knock from the doorway cut him off, and the pair turned.

“Sorry,” Ennoshita said, looking entirely unapologetic. 

“Ennoshita!” Yamaguchi chirped. He almost felt like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have. “This is my roommate, Tsukishima Kei. Tsukishima, this is Ennoshita Chikara, our favorite librarian.”

“I’m the only librarian,” Ennoshita replied, giving Tsukishima a slight bow. Tsukishima returned it. “Glad to know you didn’t turn out to be a serial killer.” 

Tsukishima glanced at Yamaguchi, an eyebrow lifting.

“They had bets,” Yamaguchi said, waving a hand dismissively. Tsukishima huffed, his mouth quirking. 

“I should get going,” Tsukishima said. “I’ll see you later, Yamaguchi. It was nice to meet you, Ennoshita-san.”

“Likewise,” Ennoshita said, stepping out of the doorway as Tsukishima approached.

“Thanks again!” Yamaguchi called. Tsukishima waved over his shoulder and disappeared down the hallway. His gaze lingered, interrupted only by Ennoshita’s obviously fake cough. He jumped, slightly, returning to the present with a sheepish grin. 

“You didn’t tell us he was handsome,” Ennoshita said pointedly. 

“It’s irrelevant,” Yamaguchi replied. He moved towards his desk, grabbing his lunch. “Besides, I don’t know if he’s interested in men. And we’re living together. And he could still be a serial killer.” He joined Ennoshita in the doorway. Clearly, his jokes hadn’t deterred the librarian. Ennoshita stared at him with a level gaze. 

“What?” Yamaguchi said, resisting the urge to squirm.

“Nothing,” Ennoshita said, lifting a shoulder. “Just saw the way he looked at you.”

“You’d know all about looks,” Yamaguchi said, just on the wrong side of defensive to be light-hearted teasing. The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and regret flooded his stomach. He wanted to take them back instantly, but Ennoshita didn’t waver.

“I would.” He arched an eyebrow before walking down the hallway towards the teacher’s lounge, leaving a stunned Yamaguchi in the doorway. 

**

_bokuto!!!_ [1:12 PM]  
were taking bets whos in???

_Akaashi Keiji_ [1:13 PM]  
Bokuto-san, I told you we weren’t taking bets.

_HINATA_ [1:13 PM]  
what are we betting on???

_bokuto!!!_ [1:13 PM]  
why tsukki asked kaashi to set up a tour for KIDS

_Akaashi Keiji_ [1:13 PM]  
We aren’t taking bets; it would make Tsukishima uncomfortable.

_Akaashi Keiji_ [1:13 PM]  
Bokuto-san.

_bokuto!!!_ [1:14 PM]  
sorry kaashi!!!

_bokuto!!!_ [1:14 PM]  
but it is weird rite??

_bokuto!!!_ [1:14 PM]  
i thought tsukki was scared of kids

_HINATA_ [1:14 PM]  
i thought tsukishima was afraid of kids!!

_HINATA_ [1:14 PM]  
jinx!!!!! jinx!!!!

_kenma_ [1:15 PM]  
my bet is his roommate

_HINATA_ [1:15 PM]  
his roommate???

_Akaashi Keiji_ [1:15 PM]  
He did mention the tour would be facilitated by a teacher.

_kenma_ [1:15 PM]  
def the roommate

_HINATA_ [1:16 PM]  
i didn’t know tsukishima had a roomie!! he’s so grumpy 

_HINATA_ [1:16 PM]  
who would live with him

_HINATA_ [1:16 PM]  
kenma how did u know he had a roommate?? 

_kenma_ [1:17 PM]  
we understand each other

_kenma_ [1:17 PM]  
what do i win?

_HINATA_ [1:17 PM]  
it’s not fair u knew he had a roommate and u didn’t tell us!!!

_HINATA_ [1:17 PM]  
bokuto-san what does kenma win???

_bokuto!!!_ [1:18 PM]  
THANK GOD U JINXED ME I CLDNT TALK

_bokuto!!!_ [1:18 PM]  
kenma wins PRIDE n GLORY

_bokuto!!!_ [1:18 PM]  
kaashi when’s the tour??? 

_HINATA_ [1:18 PM]  
sorry bokuto-san!!!

_Akaashi Keiji_ [1:19 PM]  
I’ll be in touch with the teacher today to discuss details.

_Akaashi Keiji_ [1:19 PM]  
We should treat them as normal guests. I’m sure Tsukishima would appreciate us making a good first impression.

_bokuto!!!_ [1:19 PM]  
im not gonna embarras tsukki!!

_kenma_ [1:19 PM]  
not anymore than usual

_bokuto!!!_ [1:19 PM]  
KENMA :(

_Tsukishima Kei_ [1:20 PM]  
Too late.

_bokuto!!!_ [1:20 PM]  
TSUKKI! :(((

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [chanting] field trip field trip field trip!!! i am So Excited to take you all to the museum next week. it's one of my favorite bits. that and the museum group chat. (for those of you that read "we can turn the world to gold," the ennotana brief spin-off, this is the encounter that ennoshita references. timelines!) i hope you enjoyed this chapter!! let me know what you thought in the comments below. i'm excited to share the rest of this story with you, and i hope you all have a good time!! come yell w me on twitter: @/darlingwndy and drink some water take care of yourself ur a delight ok bye see you next week!!!


	5. the world's happy waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everybody have their permission slips? It's time for a field trip!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, thank you to the groupchat: leanna, dani, pey. blessed be ur patience w/ me. chapter title from "canyon moon" by harry styles!

Two weeks flew by. True to his word, Tsukishima had pulled some strings or requested some favors, and Yamaguchi had gotten a phone call from one Akaashi Keiji to schedule the trip. Permission slips had been signed, details had been hammered out, and now on a beautiful Friday morning, Yamaguchi gathered his students outside the large marble steps of the museum.

“Okay. Before we go inside, I want to go over some ground rules.” Yamaguchi put on his best stern look, hands on his hips, taking the time to look each student in the eye. He waited until Natsu looked up at him, and then continued.

“Everything in this museum is worth more money than any of us will ever see in our entire lives. I’m making a teacher’s salary, so please don’t break anything. They will make me pay for it, and I won’t be able to buy groceries, and I’ll have to resort to eating you.” That earned him a few giggles. He tried not to smile, maybe failed. His excitement was so close to the surface, but he pressed on.

“This is a really exciting opportunity for us to see some famous artwork up close. Do we all have our notebooks?” He held up his own, a small spiral bound notebook that fit snugly in his back pocket. It took some shuffling, but soon, all of his students were waving their own notebooks around with varying degrees of enthusiasm. 

“Great! Take as many notes as you want. Copy all the drawings you think are cool. We can ask a lot of questions while we’re inside, but we might not be able to answer everyone’s today, so make sure to keep track of your curiosities. Any questions?”

Yuka’s hand shot up.

“Is Tsukishima-san going to be here?” 

“Yes,” Yamaguchi replied. “And we’re here as special guests of his, so I need you all to promise that you’ll make him seem really cool. We want to be the best guests Tsukishima-san has ever had. Right?”

“Right!” 

“Alright,” he said, turning towards the museum. “Let’s go.”

As they entered the museum, his students erupted into a quiet chorus of awe. He couldn’t help but feel the same. The museum had long been one of Yamaguchi’s favorite places in town. The marbled floors and arched ceilings made him feel as if he was entering some sacred space -- and in a way, he was. He’d never had grand plans to see his work hanging among the halls of a space like this, but he’d spent much of his time during school wandering through the exhibits. Being able to share some of that wonder with his students meant more to him than he could put into words. It was part of what had drawn him to teaching in the first place: the experience of opening a door for a student to see the possibilities around - and within - them. Their footsteps rang out through the orderly entrance hall, and Yamaguchi smiled, a soft and gentle bloom of joy. He loved this museum. It seemed like a small, intriguing, miraculous sign that he now lived with one of the people who designed it. A sign of what, exactly, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps a sign that Yachi was right: he’d done the right thing. Every small step away from Hiroki took him one step closer to something else. Something better.

“Yamaguchi Tadashi?” A gentle voice brought him back to the present. Walking towards him was one of the most handsome men Yamaguchi had ever seen. His face was kind, neutral, and he stopped a few feet away, giving Yamaguchi a slight bow. 

“I’m Akaashi Keiji, we spoke on the phone.” The man’s eyes crinkled with a smile, and Yamaguchi easily returned it, bowing as he did so.

“Ah, Akaashi-san! Thank you for having us, we’re all very excited to be here.” Yamaguchi glanced back at his class, their fifteen perfect faces shining earnestly as they nodded. If they kept this up, he was going to have to throw them an ice cream party or something. 

“Of course. We were thrilled when Tsukishima told us you were interested in coordinating a visit,” Akaashi replied. “Speaking of, he should be here in a moment.”

Yamaguchi’s eyebrows arched. 

“He didn’t tell you?” Akaashi’s mouth quirked, amusement flashing in his eyes. “He said he’d be happy to lead your tour.”

“Exposure therapy,” Yamaguchi muttered. Akaashi laughed, a quiet song, drawing a laugh out of Yamaguchi, too. Akaashi looked as if he was going to reply, but his eyes caught on something over Yamaguchi’s shoulder, drawing the teacher’s attention. Tsukishima was emerging from an office behind them. Light drizzled in from the windows, catching in his golden hair, highlighting the slope of his nose. He was wearing a white button up, the sleeves neatly rolled halfway over his forearms, a moss-green tie neatly draped over the front. Yamaguchi’s heart leapt into his throat. 

_I..._

“Tsukishima-san,” Akaashi called. The blonde turned, and Yamaguchi blinked, settling back into the present moment. Yamaguchi lifted his hand in greeting as Tsukishima approached. He looked at the students, who stared back expectantly, sizing him up. _Perfect creatures._

“I hope you weren’t waiting long,” Tsukishima said, glancing away from the kids and turning his gaze onto Yamaguchi. He smiled, waving Tsukishima’s concerns away, taking a moment to regulate his breathing.

“Nah. Were you psyching yourself up in there?” Yamaguchi teased, unable to bite back his grin.

“Tch.” Tsukishima rolled his eyes, the ends of his mouth flickering upwards just for a moment. Yamaguchi stifled a laugh, accomplishment washing over him as it did every time he drew that small smile out of his roommate. 

“Well,” Akaashi said, clasping his hands in front of him. “I’ll leave you to it. You’re in good hands. Tsukishima knows this museum better than anyone.” 

Tsukishima waved his hand, but his pride was evident in the tilt of his head. Akaashi looked back at Yamaguchi, giving a slight nod.

“It was very nice to meet you, Yamaguchi-san. I hope we’ll get to see more of you.” 

“You too!” Yamaguchi said, face splitting into a smile. “Now that I’ve got a friend on the inside, I’ll be around.”

“Who said we were friends?” Tsukishima muttered.

“Who said I was talking about you?” Yamaguchi replied sweetly. Akaashi laughed softly, giving another bow and waving to the students before turning and walking down the hallway. 

“He seems nice,” Yamaguchi observed. “What’s his title?”

“Akaashi wears many hats,” Tsukishima replied, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “He’s pretty much in charge of day-to-day operations, making sure everything runs smoothly. Occasionally he’ll lead tours.”

“Is he busy today?” Yamaguchi asked, brows drawing together. 

“No,” Tsukishima said. “I only volunteered so you couldn’t get embarrassing stories out of him.”

“So there _are_ embarrassing stories,” Yamaguchi grinned. Tsukishima shook his head, turning his attention to the students.

“Okay. Let’s get started.”

**

By the time Tsukishima had led them through the entire first floor, Yamaguchi was certain most of his students liked his roommate more than him. They scrambled to be closest to him, raising their hands politely and asking as many questions as possible, and generally did all they could to become Tsukishima’s favorite. A few begged for his autograph in their tiny notebook, and Yamaguchi wished he could have snapped a photo of the expression on Tsukishima’s face. To his credit, Tsukishima let them crowd him. It might have been pride, as he checked in with Yamaguchi every time, as if to say, _not afraid._ But it might have been something else. 

Yamaguchi was fiercely protective of his students. He tried his best to treat them all with respect, tried to encourage them to accept nothing less from each other or anyone else. He hadn’t expected Tsukishima to be rude to his students -- far from it -- but nothing could have prepared him for the way Tsukishima gave each question a serious answer. The blonde was incapable of talking down to the kids.It was one thing for Yamaguchi to pester Tsukki with questions on their Sundays, slowly drawing information out of him. It was another entirely to watch him give the information away freely - to the students, no less. Two weeks ago he’d been cowering in the doorway. Now, he was leading them around the museum like a mother duck. 

As they climbed the stairs to the second floor, Ryo reached out, sliding his tiny hand into Tsukishima’s. The blonde turned, wide-eyed, and Yamaguchi just shrugged, a smile playing on his mouth. Tsukishima flushed a magnificent pink, but let Ryo hold his hand. Yamaguchi’s chest seized with pride. Of who, he wasn’t sure: shy Ryo taking initiative, or quiet Tsukishima revealing his gentle side. He froze on the stairs, hand gripping the railing, realization starting to dawn on him.

_I..._

“Are you okay, Yamaguchi-sensei?” Yuka asked, tugging on his sleeve. Yamaguchi realized he’d been staring. Smiling brightly, he nodded. 

“Never better,” he chirped, ruffling her hair. “Come on, we don’t want to get left behind.”

They were nearing the end of the tour, slowly meandering through an exhibit filled with pastoral paintings, when Akaashi reappeared, carrying an official looking tablet and trailed by a man with silver-tipped hair and bright eyes. 

“Sorry for the interruption, Tsukishima-san,” Akaashi said, “but I need your signature on a few things.” 

Tsukishima glanced back at Yamaguchi, an apology creasing his brow, and Yamaguchi waved his hand. He clapped, grabbing the kids’ attention.

“Scavenger hunt!” Yamaguchi called. “First person to find and draw five birds wins!” The kids wasted no time peeling away from Tsukishima, giving him enough space to approach his co-workers. 

“Yamaguchi-san!” The silver-haired man bounded across the room, a warm smile on his face. Yamaguchi panicked for a second, trying to remember if he’d met the man before, or if this stranger was just this friendly with everyone. His nametag only read _Security,_ which provided Yamaguchi with none.

“Bokuto,” Tsukishima and Akaashi said in unison. Yamaguchi only caught a glimpse of Akaashi’s apologetic glance and Tsukishima’s unreadable face before his field of vision was filled with a broad chest in a crisp suit. 

“It’s so nice to meet you, freckles! I’ve heard great things about you. Not from Tsukki, the man is like a safe, but Akaashi said you were a -- what did you say, Akaashi? A delight to talk to on the phone.” The man slung his arm around Yamaguchi’s shoulders, grinning down at him. “I’m Bokuto Koutarou. You can just call me Bokuto.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” Yamaguchi started, relaxing as the anxiety washed away. “You can call me Yamaguchi, if you want.” He looked over at Tsukishima, who was clutching the tablet like he was considering hurling it in their direction. 

“You don’t talk about me?” Yamaguchi called, tilting his head.

“No - I - respect your privacy _,_ ” Tsukishima sputtered.

“Privacy,” Bokuto drawled, rolling his eyes. Yamaguchi snickered, and Bokuto beamed, squeezing him tight. 

“I like you,” Bokuto said. “Anyone who can get Tsukki here to hang out with kids has got to be some kind of special.”

“He’s been doing pretty good, actually,” Yamaguchi said, a pleased smile ghosting over his mouth. “He’s answered every one of their questions without fainting.”

“Huh?” Bokuto looked over to Tsukishima, who was now glaring at the tablet as if it was the source of his problems. “Wow, Tsukki, so brave!”

“I don’t know why you all think I’m afraid of children,” Tsukishima muttered. 

“Have you met everyone else?” Bokuto asked, looking down at Yamaguchi. 

“Just you and Akaashi-san,” Yamaguchi replied. 

“You gotta go to the gift shop! Hinata’s working today, he’s dying to meet you.” 

Yamaguchi couldn’t help but laugh. He could hardly believe his luck: meeting the infamous Bokuto _and_ Hinata in one day. 

“We don’t have to do that,” Tsukishima replied, tapping on the screen of the tablet a few times before handing it back to Akaashi.

“What?” Yamaguchi said. “We gotta go to the gift shop. That’s the whole reason the kids came!”

“I thought they were here for an educational experience,” Tsukishima replied flatly. 

“What’s more educational than consumerism?” Yamaguchi looked out at the students. “You all _do_ want to check out the gift shop, right?” 

They all turned in perfect unison, the joy in their faces irresistible, instantly chattering about what they hoped to bring home from the gift shop. Yamaguchi grinned. Yeah, they were definitely getting an ice cream party.

“Fine,” Tsukishima said. “But only because it’s educational.”

**

Akaashi and Bokuto left them with the paintings, Akaashi practically dragging Bokuto out by his sleeve. Too excited by the prospect of the gift shop to keep drawing birds, the students swarmed once more, asking Tsukishima if they could _please go to the gift shop, Tsukishima-san, can we?_ When he acquiesced, they’d cheered, scampering ahead of their chaperones, following the signs to the gift shop. Tsukishima and Yamaguchi walked closely behind, a comfortable silence falling between them. Yamaguchi couldn’t help the smile that spread over his face as he watched his students cling to each other, comparing bird sketches and discussing their purchasing plans. Gratitude almost overwhelmed him.

“Thanks again,” Yamaguchi blurted, glancing up at Tsukishima. “This was really awesome. They’re never gonna forget this.” 

Tsukishima ducked his head, shrugging slightly. His hands dug in his pockets as he spoke.

“They’re good kids,” he commented. “They have a really good teacher.”

Yamaguchi looked forward, hoping the warmth in his cheeks wasn’t as obvious as it felt. The gentle nudge of Tsukishima’s shoulder against his got his attention, and he glanced up again. There, in Tsukishima’s gaze, that unnamed _thing._ Something only his heartbeat seemed to understand, judging by the way it quickened.

“I’m serious,” the blonde said. “They really like you.”

“I think after today they like you best,” Yamaguchi said, sure that Tsukishima could see the flush on his cheeks. “They’re gonna be arguing about who your favorite was for weeks.” Tsukishima huffed his quiet laugh. Yamaguchi’s stomach flipped.

“I think it’s clear who my favorite is.”

If he hadn’t been blushing before, he certainly was now. Tsukishima only smiled, a soft and piercing thing, and slowed in front of the doorway to the gift shop. The kids had already rushed in, thankfully, none of them left to witness their teacher’s total loss of speech. 

“There’s no preparing you for Hinata,” Tsukishima said. “I apologize in advance.” He gestured for Yamaguchi to step through first, and Yamaguchi did, taking the brief second to compose himself. A brief second was all he had -- as soon as he crossed the threshold, someone was calling his name.

“Yamaguchi-san!” The redhead behind the register practically jumped over the counter to greet them. “You _are_ Yamaguchi-san, right?”

“Yeah,” Yamaguchi replied, pressing his mouth together to hide his amused smile. “Yamaguchi’s fine. You must be Hinata-san.” The redhead grinned, bright as the sun. 

“That’s me! You can call me Hinata. Are these your students?” He looked at the students dotted across the gift shop, excitedly comparing trinkets. Yamaguchi smiled.

“Yeah. They’re really excited to be here, I’m glad we could come.” 

“Us too! It’s not often Tsukishima-san brings guests to work. Oh!” Hinata said, turning back to the pair of them, a bright idea glittering in his eyes. “We were going to go out for drinks tonight. You should come!”

“No.” Tsukishima’s tone was flat, final. Yamaguchi bit the inside of his cheek, swallowing a laugh.

Hinata huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I wasn’t talking to _you,_ Tsukishima, I was talking to Yamaguchi.” The redhead turned his bright gaze back on Yamaguchi, nearly bouncing on the balls of his feet. “It could be fun! Akaashi and Bokuto are coming, and Kenma, too - have you met Kenma?”

“Akaashi and Kenma are going?” Tsukishima said, brow furrowing. 

“Yeah! It was in the groupchat!”

“You have a groupchat?” Yamaguchi asked, glancing over his shoulder at Tsukishima.

“I muted it,” Tsukishima grumbled, pulling his phone out to confirm what Hinata was saying. The impulse to smooth the creases in Tsukishima’s forehead with his thumbs burned just underneath Yamaguchi’s skin. He shoved his hands in his pockets instead.

“Well? Do you wanna come?” Hinata asked. Yamaguchi blinked, looking back at the shorter man. He smiled, lifting his shoulder in a half-shrug. 

“Could be fun.” 

“What could be fun?” A newly familiar voice came from the doorway behind them. Yamaguchi turned to see Bokuto and Akaashi entering the gift shop. 

“Yamaguchi’s coming to get drinks with us!” Hinata chirped.

“Ey? That’s great!” Bokuto bounded into the room, throwing his arms around Tsukishima and Yamaguchi. “You coming, too, Tsukki?” 

“You don’t have to,” Yamaguchi said quietly, leaning towards the blonde.

“And leave you alone with them?” Tsukishima replied, one golden eyebrow arching as he ducked his head. “I don’t think so.”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Bokuto cheered, pulling both of their faces close. Yamaguchi stifled a laugh, catching Tsukishima’s eye. The blonde rolled his eyes, but gave Yamaguchi a small, private smile. 

Yamaguchi’s heart leapt in his throat. 

_Oh, no._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)))))))))))
> 
> i hope you liked it!!! i love nothing more than slowly wandering through an art museum and i cannot wait til i can do it again (safely). also my clear crush on akaashi came through sdlfksd can't help it. what did you think?? let me know in the comments below! i'm so so grateful to everyone who's been leaving comments and reading; i'm just really happy that folks are enjoying the story so far. come yell w me on twt if ur so inclined @/darlingwndy. ok have a good day!!!!
> 
> also UHHH idk how html works bc i'm 87 thousand years old bBBBBUT @blurboiii drew (!!!!!!!!!) the ending moment and u can go tell them how GORGEOUS their art is here: [LOOK wow](https://twitter.com/blurboiii/status/1369038020469350400?s=20) IMMMMMMM still screaming about it wow ;-; thank u


	6. should've stayed at home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yamaguchi and Tsukishima go out for drinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi hi hi!! welcome back. if you didn't get a chance to see it, @blurboiii on twitter drew the ending scene and it's so GOOD y'all [pls go check it out.](https://twitter.com/blurboiii/status/1369038020469350400?s=20) as always, thank you to the groupchat: dani, pey, and leanna. ur patience is overwhelming. thank u. chapter title from "best friend" by rex orange county. enjoy!

Yamaguchi fiddled with the label on his beer bottle, eyes flicking up at Tsukishima’s closed door. He wasn’t a nervous drinker, per se, just nervous. He sipped slowly, wanting to find the right balance between soothed nerves and friendly before they met up with the others. 

The rest of the field trip had been rather short: Hinata ringing up the kids’ purchases, Bokuto chattering about the bar they’d be going to, the pair of them getting Yamaguchi’s phone number and starting a new group chat. Bokuto had crowed with laughter at the expression on Tsukishima’s face, and Yamaguchi set his nickname to _Yamaguchi🖍._

He’d herded the students back on the bus, most of them clambering to the windows to wave goodbye to Tsukishima, and returned to school with a smile he couldn’t wipe off. When Ennoshita commented on his lopsided grin, Yamaguchi had chalked it up to getting to spend a free day at the museum. Neither of them believed it, but it sounded nice.

“Is there anything I should know?” Yamaguchi called out.

“Not really,” Tsukishima replied, his voice carrying through the door. “Bokuto and Hinata are like that all the time. Maybe worse with alcohol.”

“Maybe?” Yamaguchi glanced down at his phone. He’d left it untouched for two minutes and already the groupchat had five new messages, all variations on his name. He smirked, shaking his head slightly. How Bokuto and Hinata had gotten Tsukishima’s number in the first place - let alone roped him into now two group chats - was a mystery to him. Then again, he thought, this was the same Tsukishima who looked away during the scary parts of any horror movie; the same Tsukishima who’d fetched forgotten wine and let a student lead him by the hand. Underneath that skeptical exterior was a secret softie. The thought brought a small smile to Yamaguchi’s face.

“I’d bet definitely,” Tsukishima said, his door swinging open, “but they’ve never managed to drag me out with them, so I don’t know for sure.” 

Yamaguchi looked up. He’d had a clever response prepared, something burning at the tip of his tongue, but it melted into useless snow at the sight of Tsukishima. His outfit was simple: a hoodie the color of emeralds, nestled under a jean jacket, black pants. His hair was slightly ruffled, probably from the simple act of pulling the hoodie on, and his glasses sat slightly askew. He paused in the doorway, like he was trying to remember something, and Yamaguchi swallowed. Was that all it took to render him speechless? The clean lines of an outfit that on anyone else would have looked so ordinary?

It wasn’t, really. It was the clean lines of the outfit and the crease between his brows and the patient way he listened and the way he added cinnamon to the coffee and the quiet smile he reserved for Sundays, and and and. Yamaguchi tightened his grip on his beer bottle.

_I..._

“Your hair’s down.” Tsukishima broke the silence. Yamaguchi blinked, grateful that his jaw hadn’t literally dropped open, and reached up, pushing his hair out of his face. 

“Yeah, I - does it look weird?” Yamaguchi flushed, tearing his eyes away from his roommate, digging in the pockets of his cardigan. “I could probably pull it back, I’ve got a hair tie--”

“No,” Tsukishima said, “it - looks nice.”

Yamaguchi felt the blush spread over his cheeks, licking hot up to the tips of his ears. A smile flickered over his mouth, shy and accidental. 

“Thanks,” he managed.

There was a moment of silence, not unlike the moment in Yamaguchi’s classroom those weeks ago. Tsukishima’s eyes flickered over his face, that gentle curiosity grazing soft over his warm skin. Yamaguchi’s stomach swooped. He wondered what Tsukishima saw when he looked at him, if the rattling of his heart was clear on his face. 

His phone buzzed on the counter. He nearly jumped out of his chair, scrambling for the phone, grateful for the reprieve from his dangerous train of thought. 

_HINATA_ [7:24 PM]  
are you coming??? did you get lost??? 

_bokuto!!!_ [7:24 PM]  
if u don’t show up in the next ten minutes the first round is on hinata

 _HINATA_ [7:24 PM]  
bokuto-san!!!

“I guess we should get going,” Tsukishima said. When Yamaguchi looked across the room, Tsukishima was wearing that _look._ The word for it sat on the tip of Yamaguchi’s tongue. He couldn’t bring himself to name it. Hope was a dangerous beast.

“Yeah,” Yamaguchi said, nodding quickly. “I’ll call a car.” 

**

By the time they pulled up to their destination, Yamaguchi’s heart had finally returned to a normal rate. If Tsukishima had seen anything in Yamaguchi’s face, he didn’t say anything. All the better. The last thing Yamaguchi wanted to do was make Tsukishima uncomfortable. They were friends now, good friends, and Yamaguchi was content to live on this side of _what if._ It was safe here, filled with small moments of _something._ Ennoshita would have had a harder word for it; Yachi a celebratory one. Yamaguchi had nothing. It was that unspoken language, of heartbeats and gazes, a vague and mysterious smear of color that didn’t require definition to be enjoyed. 

As they climbed out of the car, Tsukishima turned towards him, catching Yamaguchi’s gaze. 

“Don’t believe anything they say about me,” he deadpanned. 

“Got it,” Yamaguchi replied, mouth quirking into a smile as they walked into the bar. “Believe everything they say.” 

Before Tsukishima could make a retort, Hinata’s bright tone rang out across the room, calling their names. Yamaguchi peered from around Tsukishima to see Hinata practically standing in his chair, waving them over with both of his hands. The rest of the group turned, Bokuto grinning, Akaashi lifting a hand in greeting, and a blonde Yamaguchi didn’t recognize tugging at Hinata’s shirt, attempting to get him to sit back down. Tsukishima scoffed under his breath, and Yamaguchi covered his laugh with his hand. 

“Play nice,” he muttered, elbowing Tsukishima in the side.

“No promises,” the blonde replied, nudging him with his shoulder. 

“You made it!” Hinata crowed as they drew closer, his megawatt smile on full display. “You can sit next to me, Yamaguchi.” He patted one of the empty chairs at the round table. Bokuto reached over, a strong hand wrapping around Yamaguchi’s wrist and tugging him towards the empty chair next to him.

“Yamaguchi can sit next to me, and _you_ can go get us drinks,” Bokuto said, leering in Hinata’s direction. He looked up at Yamaguchi, golden eyes sparkling with mirth.

“Bokuto-san, don’t be so rough,” Akaashi said, his quiet tone still audible over the soft music and the cacophony of Hinata’s sputtering protests. “Sorry, Yamaguchi-san. It’s good to see you, I’m glad you were able to join us.”

“It’s fine,” Yamaguchi said, a laugh bubbling out of him. “You should see _my_ co-workers.” He sank into the seat next to Bokuto, earning a cheer from the silver-haired man and a _boo_ from Hinata. Tsukishima sat in the seat next to him.

_Don’t think about proximity._

“What do you wanna drink, Yamaguchi?” 

He looked over at Hinata, giving the man a half-shrug and a smile.

“I’m not picky. I’ll take whatever you drink.” 

“I hope you like sugar,” the other blonde drawled. Up close, Yamaguchi could see his dark roots, his hair pulled out of his face in a half-knot, the soft affection in his otherwise neutral expression. 

“Kenma!” Hinata protested. “Oh, shoot. Yamaguchi! This is Kenma Kozume. He works at the museum, too, but he likes to lurk in the basement. He’s afraid of the sun.” Kenma shook his head, the smallest of smiles appearing over his mouth as he reached out and pinched Hinata’s side. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Yamaguchi-san,” Kenma said, ignoring Hinata’s pout. “I’m glad Shouyo didn’t scare you off.”

“I’m not the scary one! He _lives_ with the scary one,” Hinata said, looking back at Yamaguchi with a solemn expression. “You’re very brave.”

“You’ll see scary if I have to stay sober for this,” Tsukishima said, his tone flat. 

“So pushy,” Hinata grumbled, scooting his chair out. “You’re a saint, Yamaguchi, I don’t know how you put up with it.” 

Yamaguchi could only laugh, encouraged only by Tsukishima’s eye roll as Hinata left the table for the bar. Bokuto turned, resting his chin in his hand.

“Did your students like the museum? Tsukki didn’t spook them too bad?”

“Which is it?” Tsukishima grumbled from Yamaguchi’s other side. “Am I scared of kids or do I scare kids?”

“Both,” Yamaguchi and Bokuto said in unison. Tsukishima’s mouth parted, shock running over his face, before his mouth split into a smile and he laughed. It was his quiet laugh, the one Yamaguchi heard once every three Sundays, when whatever Yamaguchi said caught Tsukishima by surprise. Instinctively, he started to laugh along. He turned his head, prepared to relish in the moment with Bokuto. His laugh died in his throat at Bokuto’s wide-eyed expression.

“What?” Yamaguchi asked, brow furrowing. He ran over the last thirty seconds, trying to identify what he’d done wrong, when Bokuto broke into a cackle, slapping Yamaguchi on the back.

“I’ve never heard Tsukki laugh!” 

“Shut up, Bokuto,” Tsukishima muttered, shaking his head. “You’ve just never made me laugh before.”

“Tsukki laughed and I missed it?” Hinata called from the bar, impatiently taking one step towards the table and one step back towards the bar. 

“Stop calling me Tsukki,” the blonde shot over his shoulder. Akaashi laughed, birdsong over the rushing river of Bokuto’s cackle, and Yamaguchi relaxed, giggling behind his hand. 

“Traitor,” Tsukishima mumbled. 

“Sorry, Tsukki,” Yamaguchi cooed. Tsukishima rolled his eyes, a pink flush appearing high on his cheeks, but he didn’t correct Yamaguchi. He tried not to read into that, ignoring the flip of his heart, grateful for the distraction of Hinata returning to the table with a trayful of drinks. The redhead placed a shot glass in front of each of them, a wicked grin on his face.

“First round’s on me!”

The next few hours passed in a blur. Whatever Hinata had bought settled warm in Yamaguchi’s belly, and he found it easy to keep up with the conversation. They exchanged questions, more jokes, the laughter flowing as easy as the drinks. Sometimes, Yamaguchi felt as if he lived his life with one eye over his shoulder, tensed for some other shoe to drop, but tonight, he felt _relaxed,_ at ease, comfortable with the tone of his laugh and confident in his jokes and sure that when a question was asked of him, his answer was listened to. Occasionally, when he said something particularly clever, Tsukishima’s knee would tap against his underneath the table. Everything felt soft around the edges. When the door to the bar swung open, Yamaguchi hardly noticed.

And then Hiroki laughed.

It was like a bucket of ice water dumped unceremoniously over his head, biting into metal, a knife through his ribs. The sounds of his friends voices began to fade, blurred and buzzing, as Hiroki’s laughter grew clearer, sharper, the only thing in the room. _It’s not him. It’s not him. It’s not him, it’s not him, it’s not him._

His eyes flickered to the door. There, in the doorway, Hiroki was grinning, his hand slapping against the chest of someone else. It hardly mattered who. Hiroki’s head was tossed back, eyes crinkled with joy. He was here. He was here and he was _happy._ It cut through the golden glow of Yamaguchi’s night, shattering the peace he’d so carefully wrapped himself in. He felt small, suddenly, turned inwards, trapped in his chair by that devastating, familiar laugh.

Irritation shot up his spine. His stomach turned. Yamaguchi’s hands gripped at the fabric of his jeans, balling into fists. He felt exposed. From here, Hiroki had a direct line of sight; it would only take one glance for Hiroki to see him, to call his name, to saunter over and invite himself to the table, knowing Yamaguchi would never deny him. He wanted to run to the bathroom; he wanted to sink underneath the table. Any second now, Hiroki would turn, and it would be over. Someone was calling his name from a thousand miles away. He could hear them, faintly, but couldn’t place the voice, could only stare at Hiroki’s happiness, sinking deeper and deeper into himself.

“Yamaguchi.” The sound of his name and the hand on his knee jerked him violently back into himself. Tsukishima’s voice, Tsukishima’s hand. Yamaguchi couldn’t tear his eyes away from Hiroki - he’d already let his guard down once, he wouldn’t do it again - but he slid his fist down his thigh, gently tapping his knuckles against the side of Tsukishima’s hand.

“He’s here,” he whispered. His throat was dry. He wasn’t even sure if the words had left his mouth. He didn’t see Tsukishima turn his head, didn’t see the way the blonde’s jaw clenched, didn’t see anything but Hiroki’s slow spin in their direction. 

_Why is he here why is he here why is he here why here why_

And then all he could see was Tsukishima. 

The blonde easily slid forward, his tall frame blocking half of Hiroki. Suddenly, Yamaguchi could see the line of Tsukishima’s jaw, the curve of his mouth, the slope of his nose. His eyelashes were so long. He smelled of mint and lemon, touched lightly by the sugar of his drink. 

“Lean in,” Tsukishima murmured. Yamaguchi hesitated. 

“Yamaguchi.” His roommate’s tone was quiet, unyielding, and Tsukishima’s fingers gently squeezed his knee. Yamaguchi stopped hesitating, turned his face from Hiroki and leaned towards Tsukishima. Now he was staring at the denim of Tsukihima’s jacket, where it crushed against his hoodie, where the cotton kissed the pale expanse of his neck. His cheeks were ablaze. He couldn’t breathe. No, he was holding his breath. He exhaled, slowly. Tsukishima stayed quiet. Yamaguchi tried to focus on the sound of his heartbeat, crashing like an ocean against his ears. He wished it was the excited pitter-patter from the museum, but he knew it was the terrified pace of taking a step and falling into a pit. He tried to think of the breathing techniques Yachi would walk him through in college. _In, two, three, four._ He stared at Tsukishima’s sweatshirt. _Hold, two, three, four._ He focused on what he could feel, see. The texture of his jeans, the bob of Tsukishima’s adam’s apple as he swallowed. _Out, two, three, four._

“Do you want to leave?” Tsukishima’s voice was quiet, low, the question intended only for him. He did, desperately, want to leave. It felt cowardly, but Yamaguchi didn’t want to be brave. He wanted to be home. The words got stuck in his mouth, caught behind his teeth, and he clenched his jaw. He could hear all the times Hiroki had asked the same question, how his tone had been sharp where Tsukki’s was soft. This was new.

“I - I can go by myself, you can stay,” Yamaguchi started, his stomach twisting into knots. Shame always made his tongue feel swollen, embarrassment stinging in the back of his throat. Tsukishima shook his head, slightly. That, new, too.

“He’s sitting behind us. Don’t turn around. We’ll go home.” 

Before Yamaguchi could protest, Tsukishima turned to the table.

“I’ve got an early morning tomorrow,” Tsukishima said. “We’re gonna head out.”

“Yamaguchi, are you going too?” Hinata asked, glancing up from where he was curled into Kenma’s side. Yamaguchi could only nod. He tried to smile, but his lower lip started to tremble, so he dropped it, lowering his gaze to the table.

“Is everything alright?” Akaashi asked. His voice felt like a gentle hand on Yamaguchi’s shoulder. It was almost too much. 

“Yeah,” Tsukishima said. “I just don’t trust him alone with you.” Yamaguchi could hear the smile in the blonde’s voice. It tore at him, the half of him that wanted the comfort fighting against the half of him that felt guilt guilt guilty over dragging Tsukishima away from his co-workers. Yamaguchi glanced up, catching Akaashi’s eye. The older man took him in - not without kindness, and with a great amount of understanding - and he nodded once.

“Get home safe,” Akaashi said. “Thank you for coming, Yamaguchi-san. It was great to spend time with you.”

“Yeah, we’ll have to do it again sometime!” Bokuto said, leaning forward with a bright smile. “You’re our friend now, too. Tsukki can’t keep you all to himself.” Tsukishima scoffed, and Yamaguchi nodded, a brief smile managing to flicker over his mouth. 

“I’d like that,” he managed. He tried not to think about the picture he was painting, so sure that the wavering in his voice would give him away, but a look around the table gently tended to his frayed nerves. Bokuto was right. They were his friends, too. New, new, all of it new. Tsukishima rose from the table, putting a hand on Yamaguchi’s shoulder blade.

“You ready?”

Yamaguchi nodded, swallowing, and rose from the table. They exchanged more goodbyes. Yamaguchi wasn’t sure what was being said. He could feel eyes on the back of his neck, a far-too familiar gaze, and then Tsukishima’s hand was on his back and he was being guided out. They stepped into the cool night air, and Yamaguchi exhaled like he’d been punched. Relief, a breath of air after suffocating. Tsukishima let his hand fall away.

“The car will be here in two minutes,” Tsukishima said, staring down at his phone. Yamaguchi nodded, lifting his gaze to the stars. He could feel tears beginning to crowd the corners of his eyes. Shame was hot, but relief was cool. He was somewhere in the middle, unmoored and grounded and strange, strange, strange. He pulled his hands out of his pockets and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, willing himself to hold it together. After a few moments of silence, he exhaled shakily and let his hands fall back by his side. He wasn’t crying. Small victories. He’d left in one piece. Small victories. He hadn’t had to do any of it alone. The greatest victory of them all. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, gaze wavering somewhere across the street.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Tsukishima replied. 

“You could have stayed, if you wanted,” Yamaguchi said, “I wouldn’t have minded. I don’t want to pull you away from your friends.”

“I’d rather hang out with you,” Tsukishima said. “I get enough of those loudmouths at work.” 

Yamaguchi looked over. The blonde was looking back, backlit by the streetlamps, bathing him in a soft, white glow. The ends of his mouth turned up, just the hint of a smile, enough to draw one out of Yamaguchi, too. Tsukishima shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets, dropping his gaze to the sidewalk. When he spoke next, his voice was quiet, almost _shy._

“I didn’t want you to be alone.” 

Yamaguchi’s chest tightened. Gratitude washed over him, almost overwhelming. He tried to think of something to say, anything that could convey what that meant to him, but everything felt too small. The car pulled up, the window rolling down as the driver called Tsukishima’s name, and the moment was gone. The blonde stepped forward, opening the door and gesturing for Yamaguchi to crawl in. He murmured a quiet thank you, the best he could offer, and pressed his forehead to the window, pressed his hand against the middle seat. His heart was rattling in his chest, and he closed his eyes, grateful for the cool glass of the window. 

_I am so totally gone._

**

The whole ride home, Yamaguchi stared out the window. Tsukishima stared at Yamaguchi. His hand was splayed out in the middle seat, as if Yamaguchi was seeking something solid and sturdy, his pinky finger a breath away from Tsukishima’s. 

Tsukishima had never gotten into a fight before. He wasn’t necessarily a violent person by nature, he never really understood the urge. He’d sharpened his wit over the years, had mastered the art of cutting someone down with words, taking his victories from their silences. Bloodlust seemed primitive. But one look at Yamaguchi’s face when that man had stepped inside the bar had Tsukishima seeing red. He’d watched Yamaguchi’s whole body stiffen, the color drain from his face, and Tsukishima’s hands had curled into fists before he could consider any other option. He wanted Hiroki to spit out teeth. But the last thing Yamaguchi would have wanted was a scene, so Tsukishima had taken swallowed his clumsy instincts and put himself between them. When Yamaguchi leaned in, smelling of firewood and orange peel, Tsukishima had almost forgotten about Hiroki completely. All he could think of was making sure Yamaguchi was okay.

He looked down at Yamaguchi’s hand. If he was a different person, perhaps, he would reach out and thread their fingers together, squeeze Yamaguchi’s hand, reassure him. He wanted to. He could feel the desire rising in him, bursting forth from that small seed that had sprouted and bloomed despite Tsukishima’s best attempts at ignoring it. He _wanted_ to. He wasn’t used to wanting. It startled him, sometimes, the ways in which the man sitting next to him had so easily drawn Tsukishima into his gravitational pull. He _liked_ Sundays now, led children through his exhibits, looked forward to hearing _Tsukki_ come out of Yamaguchi’s mouth. He stared at their hands, thought about moving his pinky forward, brushing their knuckles together again. An invitation, a door opening. But he didn’t. Not yet. 

He dragged his eyes up, up, past Yamaguchi’s hand to his wrist, buried in the mustard fabric of his cardigan, up the lean line of his arm, over his shoulder, traced the gentle wave of his hair. Tsukishima wanted to tuck a piece of it behind his ear, wanted to know if his cheek would fit in Tsukishima’s palm. The light from the passing street lights washed over Yamaguchi’s face, illuminating him for moments at a time. Each glimpse of his face made Tsukishima’s heart stutter, leaping against his ribcage like it wanted a better look.

_I..._

The car pulled up in front of their apartment. Yamaguchi peeled himself away from the window, turning his soft eyes towards Tsukishima. 

“Thanks,” he said, voice quiet in the dim light of the car. 

“No problem,” Tsukishima managed. _Of course. Of course. Of course._

They got out of the car, Yamaguchi remembering to thank the driver, and walked towards their front door in silence. Tsukishima wanted to say something. Everything felt stupid in his mouth. Instead, he stepped forward, unlocking the door, holding it open as Yamaguchi stepped inside. Their apartment was dim. It felt too big, somehow. They’d go their separate ways now, each to their own halves of the house, and Yamaguchi would go to his room and Tsukishima would stare at his ceiling and think of the thousand things a thousand better men would have said or done. 

Yamaguchi took a step forward. Tsukishima reached out, fingers gently circling his wrist. His heart was racing. He wondered if Yamaguchi could feel it. He was thankful, suddenly, for the darkness of the entryway. His cheeks must have been glowing. Yamaguchi paused, turned, looked at Tsukishima with concern and confusion and the barest hint of something yellow, something close to hope. Tsukishima swallowed. He could give himself this. One moment. One truth. One selfish vulnerability.

“Tadashi,” he started, his voice low. 

Yamaguchi stared up at him, eyes wide and bright, gaze searching. Tsukishima squeezed, gently, the lightest amount of pressure, enough to press his thumb against Yamaguchi’s pulse and feel it quicken. He continued.

“He never deserved you.” 

Yamaguchi’s mouth parted, a breath of surprise leaving him. Tsukishima thought of what he wanted. He pictured it, clear as day in his mind: the easy way he could tilt Yamaguchi’s face up towards his with a gentle hand, how simple it would be to bow his head like prayer and...but he couldn’t. Not now. Not like this. Not while the shadow of someone else loomed over them. He’d be no better than the man they’d left behind if he just _took_ what he wanted. Hiroki didn’t deserve Yamaguchi. 

Tsukishima wanted to.

“Goodnight,” he said, his voice barely audible. His thumb swiped along Yamaguchi’s wrist before letting go. He moved towards his room, shutting the door behind him and pressing his forehead to the cool wood. His heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest. There had been a moment there, however small, however fleeting, where he thought he saw...something. A shift, perhaps, or a reveal. Hope, that fickle creature. For a moment, he’d almost believed that Yamaguchi wanted the same thing he did. Even the thought brought a smile to his face, tripped his heart, warmed his face. He squeezed his eyes shut, dropped the smile, curled his hands into fists.

 _I am so totally gone._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> now entering: mutual oblivious pining. someone on twitter said they hoped this chapter was filled with ~tension~ and i hope i delivered!!! what did you think?? i love writing ensemble scenes - it's one of my favorite parts of writing hq fic, tbh - so expect some more coming in the future. next week will be full of aching. and what's that on the horizon? could it be? light angst? who knows!! not me!! let me know your thoughts in the comments below. they make my day. thank you all so much for reading!!! have a good day!!!


End file.
